


Franmouche

by Vacors



Category: Samurai Jack (Cartoon)
Genre: M/M, Prostitution, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-28
Updated: 2019-01-31
Packaged: 2019-10-18 01:35:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 40
Words: 85,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17571809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vacors/pseuds/Vacors
Summary: Francis was merely returning a favor from a few years ago when he put Scaramouche back together following his run in with the Samurai. He had never intended to let anything develop between them, especially as his past as a sexbot continues to haunt him.





	1. The Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> I'd like to make a special shout out to Salacious Shipping for giving Francis, the French Robot, a name and a backstory and for allowing me to use their character. I highly recommend checking out their Patreon to see their fantastic Franmouche artwork here (https://www.patreon.com/ssnsfw/posts) or visiting their google doc for more information on their social media accounts here (https://goo.gl/1t59on).

**The Beginning**

_The stitch work probably isn’t good enough for him,_ Francis sighed, barely half way through the task. _Should have picked up a new one or had it professionally repaired_. His bank account did not offer that freedom, especially not one of a high quality. Scaramouche would have to deal with the tattered coat for a while. _But he got me a new shirt._

            The high pitched shriek and flailing from the bed jerked Francis back to reality. Quickly, he sheathed his dagger, cursing his own fright before approaching the bed.

            “Relax, Mon Tueur, the Samurai is not around.” The blue eyes flickered wildly about the room before rapidly dimming to blackness. The faint whirling of gears lingered. After a long minute, the blue lights slowly brightened, accompanied by disjointed twitches of his frame.

            Scaramouche spoke, a conglomerate of syllables that did not remotely sound like any language Francis had heard. The robots head snapped back into the pillow as a seizure ripped through his body. Another long string of syllables finally led to something comprehensible.

            “— happened, babe?”

            “You lost at the hands of the Samurai, Mon Tueur. He cleaved you in half, hitting quite a few critical locations, which caused your body to explode.” _Into 30 or so fun sized pieces. Hopefully, I found them all_. “I put you back together and brought you home. I owed you one.” This brought a sly smile to Scaramouche’s face, before it was replaced with horror. A wave of burnt oil tumbled from his mouth with a sharp groan. Francis fought down his own wave of nausea, leaving amidst the needy whimpers to fetch a cloth.  Perching on the edge of the bed, he wiped the foul oil away.

            A hand found his wrist and pulled him off balance as he tried to stand back up. Francis glanced down, jerking his wrist free.

            “Please don’t leave me, babe.” For someone who had always appeared so cocky, so independent, and so ruthless, his request amused Francis.

            “I have matters to attend to. I will be in the house if you need me.”

            “I didn’t wait, babe. I should have stayed with you when …” he gagged, his face wrenching in agony.  The cloth was pressed against his mouth as he vomited again. “Should have…”

            “I was fine, Mon Tueur. It was a simple patch, and there was no need for you to wait. I am not going far. You need to recalibrate and reboot, then rest.” Scaramouche nodded solemnly, his trademark sneer still vacant.

~/~

            _For all this work, I should have charged him rent! He could manage it, probably. His clothes are high quality._ Francis staggered a bit under the weight, half leading, half carrying Scaramouche to the oil basin. While he was much better than he had been two days ago, Scaramouche did not retain full control over his limbs, nor the endurance he should have had. _A hospital would have been better than my basic skills_. _If I could have afforded it._

            “Sit down a moment, Mon Tueur. I’ll prepare your bath.”

            “What’s that mean, babe? You keep calling me that.” Francis hesitated as he began to fill the basin. _He could easily kill me and he has too short a temper_.

            “Nothing. It’s just a word for … guest.” Scaramouche made a noise of disappointment, falling silent until Francis had nearly finished filling the basin.

            “Are you sure it doesn’t mean lover, babe?” Francis glared over his shoulder.

            “I’m quite sure it doesn’t.” _A little respect would be nice._ Francis hoped this was not the start of another endless bout of flirting. The first time they had clashed, Scaramouche danced around him, constantly implying what good lovers they would made. While it was a strange tactic, it had left Francis stunned enough for Scaramouche to ruin one of his good shirts by cutting open the front.

            “If you’re sure, babe,” Scaramouche trailed his fingers up his own coat, slowly unfastening the buttons. As he stood up, Francis tensed again, positive he would collapse immediately without his support. Much to his annoyance, Scaramouche seemed to stand and walk a bit on his own just fine. This coat gapped open around his chest, only held shut by the belt still around his waist. Scaramouche let it slide from his shoulders a little further, carefully studying Francis as he fiddled with the belt. Not receiving any reaction from his host, he turned his back teasingly, letting the top of his jacket fall completely away. Before he could finish his strip tease, Scaramouche’s leg gave out, sending him tumbling to the ground. Francis skittered across the floor, grabbing the robot’s shoulders to protect his head from colliding with the tile and dislodging any critical wires.

            “Sorry, Francis, baby. Thinking about you makes me feel a little faint.” He deftly removed the belt, letting the coat fall in a pile on the ground as Francis untied his scarf. Pulling the taller robot to his feet, Francis made it a point to keep his head up and eyes trained towards the upper parts of the room. _No need for me to see what he’s packing. I’m not for hire anymore_. Scaramouche was slightly more helpful, swinging his legs into the basin without assistance. His legs dangled over the end, which Francis had expected due to his sheer height, but he had also expected Scaramouche to be a bit more cooperative and sit inside like a normal robot rather than lie with the majority of his chest covered in the oil and legs poised in the air.

            Francis did not know whether to count his blessings or count to ten to hold his own temper. While Scaramouche had enough modesty to cup his hands around his lower half, he did not seem the least bit interested in massaging the oil into his joints.

            Not wanting to spend his whole day wondering if Scaramouche would further injure himself _and extend his unwarranted stay_ , Francis pushed up his sleeves. He started with Scaramouche’s head. Scaramouche hummed his approval, eyes slipping closed. _I’m charging him rent at double a normal rate,_ Francis decided with a deep frown, beginning to work on his chest. He was pleased to see the temporary plates he had installed were still holding securely.

            “Don’t forget to get in every crevice, babe,” Scaramouche smirked, although his words were slightly shaky. _Oh, Aku, he’s fucking aroused by this._ Francis shot him another dirty look, as he worked as fast as possible along the lower chest and hips. Had he not seen him standing while attempting the strip tease, Francis may have passed the quick jerk of Scaramouche’s arm off as another uncontrollable spasm. Yet, he did not have time to scold Scaramouche as his own fingers slipped inside of the robot in a place he knew should not be open under normal circumstances. Only if Scaramouche had been planning to have sex should his port be in place. Yet, it felt permanent. Scaramouche looked mortified as Francis only looked shocked rather than annoyed.

            “I thought … I thought you knew, babe. When you put me back together, didn’t you … didn’t you see, babe?”

            “I was too…” _terrified you would cease to function to notice such trivial matters_. “I did not pay attention to that.”

            “Oh.” Scaramouche finally sat up normally, leaning forward to finish the oil bath himself. “I figured you had seen me, babe. I had it installed, babe.” _So he’s a sex bot, too? That would explain all the unnecessary flirting as he tries to get business._ Francis could feel Scaramouche studying him again.

            “If you interested, babe, I’m yours. Maybe knock out both of our needs at once. _”_

            “How much do you want?” _I’ll just tell him he’s out of my price range. Can’t afford any of those luxuries now_.

            “Every inch of you, babe.” Francis drew back a bit, trying to decode the message. _Shit, he’s not a sex bot. He’s serious._

            “No, that’s not what I meant. I … never mind. Forget I asked.”

~/~

            Francis had not felt so drained since he had taken on his last clients, over five years ago. Bounty hunting was a much easier past time, usually, although work had been sluggish lately. He had put Scaramouche back into bed, silently ignoring the louder than usual whirling of fans and gears from his guest. _Giving him too many mixed signals. He would have been an ideal client, doing the flirting for me and practically throwing himself on me. He’s not unappealing himself_. Francis shook his head violently. _An hour without his nuisance and I still think about him? Pathetic_. He gave up trying to tidy the place, deciding to power off for the night, looking forward to the day his high maintenance guest was back on the road.

            As he unlocked his own bedroom door, a muffled cry from down the hall broke the silence. Body jerking to attention, he gripped his dagger hilt tightly, creeping down the hall. _Just what I need: a dissatisfied client ruining the progress I’ve made with Scaramouche._ He briefly considered letting the intruder rip Scaramouche to shreds, but decided he would rather sleep than risk the intruder forcing his way into his own room later that night.

            Scaramouche had left the lamp on, _running up the electricity bill_ , and the door cracked open. Francis knew the hinges would not make a sound, so he pushed it open a few more inches, squaring his shoulders as he prepared to destroy the intruder.

            Except there was no one in the room, save for Scaramouche. The robot in question had  gotten on top of the sheets, after a struggle with disjointed limbs judging by how tangled and wrinkled they were. His coat lay folded on the ground next to the bed while his scarf remained on, gently cascading over the side of the bed. His fingers were quite busy.

            With his left hand, he plunged several fingers into the port, which Francis could clearly see now it was not completely permanent and had a place for other attachments, but it was much more secure and meant for long term wear. Scaramouche thrusted against his own fingers as he writhed on the bed. His right hand held the pillow over his mouth, stifling a lot of the noise he was making.

            Francis pressed his own hand over his mouth to keep from gasping. He felt a twitch in his own groin as Scaramouche kept working to get his fingers pumping in deeper. Having seen more than he should have stayed to see, Francis went to pull the door back.

            “Francis, baby…” Scaramouche moaned out, the words barely clear through the pillow. Francis tensed, his system almost going into a temporary stasis out of shock.

            “Harder, babe, harder!” Scaramouche whimpered, raising his hips as he tried to find the best angle. Francis nearly sighed as he realized Scaramouche was murmuring only to himself. He pulled the door and briskly walked to his own bedroom.

            _He actually wants me_. Francis let a smile grace his features before realization dawned on him. _No. No one ever wants me. That’s been made clear a hundred times before. They want my services. No more than that. He’s just the same_. _Why would he be any different?_

~/~

            “Good morning, babe.” It was not the best option, but the most automatic one. Francis threw himself backwards when the arms wrapped around him. Scaramouche did not relinquish his hold, dragging them both to the ground. His fingers toyed with the top button on Francis’ shirt. He managed to get it unfastened before Francis jerked himself out of his embrace.

            “What are you doing, Mon Cher?”

            “Making you look even more handsome. Are you calling me your lover now, babe?” Francis tongue had slipped, and he had hoped Scaramouche was too oblivious to notice.

            “No!” he snapped, moving to fix his shirt.

            “Leave it open, babe. It looks good like that. You’ll have everyone fawning over you.” _Except I don’t need that anymore._ Scaramouche rose to his feet, grinning ear to ear as he smoothed out the shirt and left the button open. With a grunt, Francis turned away, continuing to iron his coat. He did not flinch when he felt the hands run through his artificial hair, but did close his eyes to refrain from smashing the hot iron into Scaramouche.

            “Why are you doing this?”

            “Why am I doing what, babe?”

            “All of this!” He shook his head, wincing as Scaramouche’s hand got caught in his hair.

            “What am I doing, babe?” Francis did not even have to look to know the signature smirk was there. He would not dare look lest Scaramouche could see the want in his own face.

~/~

            He had given in after another two days, letting Scaramouche run his long fingers through his hair. _I’m too tired to care_ , he felt himself screaming to himself.  _I won’t even complain that he has his shoes on my bed_. Scaramouche had knocked furiously at his door, sounding panicked. It finally dawned on Scaramouche that he was still in the middle of a mission and he _had_ to call someone with important information, but he could not seem to remember the message or even the intended recipient. He came to confide in Francis, calming down slightly after a few moments, but not enough for him to return to the guest room. Fiddling with a few strands, Francis finally caved, allowing Scaramouche to distract himself as long as it calmed him enough to go back to sleep.

            “Your hair’s gorgeous, babe… like you.” _Why doesn’t he just offer to pay for sex if he wants it so bad?_ _Unless he doesn’t know what to offer_. _He seems a little out of it still_. Francis cast a glance at the mirror on his dresser, surprised to see how focused Scaramouche was on his work. He could see an intricate braid forming.

            “Why are you so obsessed with the way I look, Mon …?” Scaramouche waited a few seconds to see if Francis would give him a title.

            “Because I want everyone to see how handsome you are, babe.” _Fuck, he’s good at these one liners._ _Or was he serious?_ Scaramouche worked for ten more minutes, humming to himself as he finished.

            “You look great, babe.” His hands snaked around Francis’ shoulders, idly toying with the second button. _I suppose there’s one way to find out if he’s serious._ Grabbing Scaramouche’s scarf, he pulled him forward, giving him a quick peck on the lips. The round shape of Scaramouche’s eyes screamed absolute  shock. They stared at each other.

            “Mon Cher, I’m sorry! I thought –”

            “Wait, babe. You just took me by surprise! Don’t stop. Never in my wildest fantasy did I think you would … Please, Francis, baby!” Francis kissed him again, longer. He felt Scaramouche tense as he worked his tongue into his mouth. _He’s never had this kind of attention before. Maybe he can have a first time discount_. Francis turned to face him fully, pressing his weight against him until Scaramouche laid flat on the bed. _Ridiculous! This isn’t a job. This is … pleasure. For both of us._

            “Are you sure, babe, that you want to do this with me? I’m not … I want you to be sure.”

            “Oui, Mon Cher. I’m sure.” Francis continued slowly working open the buttons, frustrated that all of this came back to him too easily. He eased the belt open, sliding the fabric away and revealing the metal frame. Sitting back on his knees, he allowed Scaramouche to sit back up and strip off the coat completely. Scaramouche was timidly pulling at Francis’ clothing, failing to unbutton his sleep shirt. Assisting the suddenly shy robot, Francis pulled the shirt over his head, feeling arousal build inside him as Scaramouche gingerly reached out to explore his metal chest.

            “Pants too, babe?” the needy whimper brought a soft smile to Francis.

            “You want to see more, Mon Cher? Can your circuits take it?”

            “Yes, babe!” Francis rewarded him with a few more kisses on the underside of his jaw. He slowly lowered his own pants, grinning as he watched Scaramouche refrain from fingering himself again. Casting the garments aside, he put a halt to Scaramouche internal struggle, tracing the rim of the port. After a few moments, he slid two fingers inside of him, feeling along the track to find the most sensitive locations. Scaramouche sang out as Francis trusted them faster.

            “Mon Cher, you’re leaking all over me and we’ve barely gotten started,” Francis smirked, nuzzling against the taller robot’s shoulder. Flattening onto his stomach after one last kiss in the center of Scaramouche’s chest, Francis dipped his  head lower, kissing his way further down Scaramouche’s stomach. After he extracted his fingers, Francis traced around the outer walls with his tongue. Shudders ripped through Scaramouche’s body as he sang out his praise.

            “Oh, baby! Don’t stop!” Scaramouche jerked his hips towards Francis. “You feel so amazing, babe!” Scaramouche’s hand, now entangled in his hair, pulled him closer. Francis obliged.

            His tongue thrust deep into Scaramouche, drawing out another loud moan that warped into nearly a song. The appendix teased inside the track before Francis bobbed his head. He pressed against the pleasure centers he had found earlier, lapping at the excess liquid Scaramouche produced. Unable to remain upright after five minutes, Scaramouche toppled backwards wrapping his legs around Francis’ head and tearing at the sheets with his hands. He sang out unintelligible noises, growing significantly louder as Francis began to flick his tongue across his clit.

            Francis slid two fingers back inside of Scaramouche. The singing was nearly constant as Francis locked his metal lips onto the clit and rapidly thrusted his fingers.

            “B-Babe, c-cumming!” Scaramouche arched his back unnaturally, holding tightly onto Francis before he collapsed a minute later. Limbs limp, Francis pulled away, letting Scaramouche’s legs fall to the bed in a heap. _It’s been a while since that has actually been fun_.

            “Are you ready to go back to sleep, Mon Cher?” Scaramouche stretched one hand towards Francis weakly. Francis took it, bringing it to his lips before kissing the knuckles. Stretching further and gently weaving it into Francis’ hair, he tried to pull Francis closer to him.

            “Francis, baby. You’re so amazing. Tomorrow, babe. I’ll return the favor. I promise.” He powered down much faster than Francis would have liked, but it was understandable with all the stress he just put his system though.

~/~

            He had not woken up in a cozy embrace in a long time. _The last time was a mistake by the client,_ Francis mused. Scaramouche had a hand resting on his head, the other still limp on his back. Francis had pulled Scaramouche into a tight embrace before calling it a night himself.

            _Why bother wasting time here? He won’t pull through on his promise. They never do._ Scaramouch had received what he was pining after, so he had no need to do anything else. Yet, Francis found himself feeling more optimistic than usual, waiting for the robot to awaken.

            “Sorry for clocking out on you last night, babe. No one’s made me sing like that before.” Francis rolled off of him and moving to the edge of the bed so he could begin getting ready for the day. Scaramouche tested his toes and fingers, making sure he had control in all of them. A look of satisfaction crossed his face.

            “Come closer, babe. I want to return the favor! Or … don’t you want me to?” Forcing away the shock, Francis put on a softer smile. _He is genuine._

            “You don’t have to, Mon Cher –”

“But I _want to_ , Francis, baby. I want you to feel as good as I did.” The confidence had returned. “I want to see you _writhing_ in pleasure!”

            “Alright, do what you will with me.” He leaned back, spreading his knees and revealing himself. Scaramouche did not even try to hide his own arousal, licking his lips as he crawled in front of Francis. Drawn first to his chest, Scaramouche latched his lips onto the fake nipples. The tip of his tongue teased roughly, sending a shudder down Francis’ spine. His own compressors worked overtime to increase the flow of oil through his system. The other side of Francis’ chest received attention in the form of an exploring hand.

            “You have such a good frame, babe. So much detail.” Scaramouche sucked on the other nipple. “You put a lot of X-models to shame.”

            “It’s not that gre-AH!” Scaramouche’s other hand had found his member, teasing the underside with his fingertips. _His technique is a bit sloppy. He would not make much on the streets._ Yet, a few more fluttering strokes brought Francis’ member standing to attention. Wasting no more time on his chest, Scaramouche leaned lower, suckling the tip. The tongue swirled clumsily around the head.

            Francis gasped as Scaramouche grabbed his hips and pulled him closer. Tumbling backwards, Francis clawed at the sheets as Scaramouche took the full length into his mouth. The bobbing head dredged cries of pleasure from Francis. _It’s been too long for me as well_. _I can’t even control my own desires. How pathetic._ Thrusting into the mouth only pleased Scaramouche. He began to sing around the member, the vibrations in his throat making Francis squirm.

            “Mon Cher … I am … close.” Truly expecting Scaramouche to back away, Francis moaned out his praise as Scaramouche bobbed his head even faster. Back arched and fists clinched, he came hard.

            “Francis, baby,” Scaramouche cooed, licking the spilled cum from his lips, “That was such a satisfying load. What I wouldn’t give to have another one … deep inside of me, babe.” He ran his tongue slowly from the seam of the permanent fixture to the tip, a shudder rippling through Francis again.

            “Perhaps tonight, Mon Cher. Your eyes are already dim and you just woke up.” Francis pried his body away as Scaramouche pouted. He dressed for the day, pulling on his shirt.

            “Is that the one I gave you, babe?” Francis glanced down at the top two buttons. They were slightly different than the original buttons, Francis having to add them.

            “Oui.” He caught sight of Scaramouche’s glare in the mirror. “What’s wrong?”

            “You’re not wearing it right, babe.” The long fingers were frantically adjusting the shirt, ripping open the top two buttons and smoothing down the lapel. 

            “But we’re not staying home today. I need to do some shopping.”

            “I fail to see your point, babe.”

            “You can’t possibly expect me to go out like this, Mon Cher.”

            “That was the point of getting you that shirt, babe! Look how handsome you look! So attractive, babe.” Francis shuttered as the fingers traced down his bare chest.

            “It’s not my style,” Francis tried to keep the note of frustration out of his voice when he went to fix the shirt, only to have his own hands swatted away.

            “But it is, babe. You look _soooo_ good like that.”

            “Fine, Mon Tueur. Can we go now?”

            Over the course of the hour drive, Francis had to elbow Scaramouche four times to keep the exploring hands above his waist.  _I should not have slept with him. I should have known better. At least I should have charged him an arm and a leg and made any extra chargers clear._

            “You’re awfully quiet, babe. Don’t you like me?” Francis pulled into a parking spot, brushing off the hand that was caressing his hip. “You did in bed. I don’t think I could pay someone and have it be that good, babe.”

            “Mon Cher, please, I just need to pick up a few things and see if there are any new bounties in the area I can collect.”

            “What’s the matter, babe? It’s just a little harmless teasing. You’re shy, that’s fine. I promise I won’t embarrass you in public, babe.”

            “Thank you.”

            “I am going to go find you some nicer things to wear though, babe.” He sped off before Francis could protest.

            “Why are you like this, Mon Cher?”

~/~

            “It’s good to see you back in business again. Went over to the next town, but they ain’t got anyone as good as you.”

            “You’re mistaken, Niles. I’m only here to pick up a few supplies.” He did not spare the bulky robot to his right a second glance.

            “And check the bounty list? You ain’t so good at that anymore. Didn’t you get your arms ripped off last month? Ever since the Samurai got you, you’ve gotten scared. You certainly were more submissive in the bedroom after that.”

            “I’m not interested,” Francis stated coldly. He continued scanning the list, debating on which of the lower risk bounties would be worth his while.

            “Aw, come on. You’re a sex bot. You know it, I know it, everyone knows it.” _Not Scaramouche._ “How about $300 for an hour? I’ll be gentle.”

            “I’m _not_ interested.” _Not for that price_. _Better than what you offered last time, but not enough anymore._

            “Is Scaramouche paying you more? I guess he is, ain’t he? Got some pretty good cash coming in. Can’t believe he’s settled for you though. You’re a little cheap for his tastes, don’t you think?” Francis inched his hand up to his dagger as Niles wrapped a bulky arm around his shoulders, waiting for a response.

            “Come on, sex bot. $175 for half an hour? You know you want to.”

            “Let go.” With a gentle tug to the left, he tested how much of a hold Niles had. “Release me. This is your last warning. I don’t want to make a scene.”

            “Or what, sex bot? You gonna stab me with your little dick?” The time to draw his dagger had come, but he grasped only empty air. Not wanting to draw attention to the lack of weapon, Francis cast a glance down, seeing a swish of purple at the edge of his vision.

            Francis staggered a few steps as the arm around his shoulders was violently separated from the body and shoved away. The useless arm clattered to the floor. Scaramouche stepped casually in front of Francis, one hand on his hip, the other toying with Francis’ oil stained dagger.

            “ _You_ owe my _boyfriend_ an apology, babe.” The venomous tone made Francis’ denial of the fact die on his lips. _Later. We’ll discuss it later. Not in bed, though._

            “Hey, Scaramouche. I uh … didn’t see you there.” Niles took a step back, raising his remaining arm protectively. It was a pointless gesture. Scaramouche lunged forward, the dagger swiftly running though the metal frame before anyone could utter another word.

            “Funny, babe, I don’t remember asking for an excuse.” A thin trail of oil seeped from the corner of Niles’ mouth. He cast a glance down at the dagger hilt protruding from his chest, and the oil spilling over Scaramouche’s hand.

            “I-I’m … sorry.”

            “And, babe?” The dagger took a dangerous half spin, drawing a screech of pain from Niles.

            “AND IT WON’T HAPPEN AGAIN!”

            “You’re lucky I’m in a good mood, babe. I’ve got half a mind to plant this in that empty head of yours.” Scaramouche continued to slowly rotate the imbedded dagger clockwise until it had made a full circle, patiently ignoring the tormented screams and stares from nearby shoppers. “Luckily for you, I’m feeling bit under the weather, babe, and I’m about ready to head home.” Francis winced as the dagger was worked free with a quick jerk. The excess oil was wiped onto the soiled shirt before Scaramouche returned it to Francis, a wider than usual grin plastered on his face.

            “Let’s go home, Francis, baby. I can’t wait to show you what I got for you.”

            “Thank you, Mon Cher.”

            “Don’t you think for a second I’ll let any scum of the earth slander you, Francis, baby.” Francis flinched as the new arm around his shoulders pulled him into a protective half-hug. _How much did he overhear? I never even heard him approach._ “I won’t tolerate one word of those lies!”

            “Scaramouche?” he ventured as they neared the parked vehicle.

            “Yeah, babe?” _Better to get it out now and hopes he’s still in a good mood._

            “Would you …?” Francis trailed off hopelessly, the confidence fading faster than he expected.

            “Marry you? Of course, babe! But don’t you think I should take you on a proper date, first?”

            “No, that’s not what I meant,” Francis groaned, loading his purchases onto his motorcycle.

            “Okay, babe. Yes, I would date you.”

            “Please, can you stop for just a minute?”

            “Sure. All you have to do is ask, babe. I’d let you fuck me right here if that’s what you want.”

            “Would you be mad … if I were a sex bot?”

            “But you’re not, babe.”

            “Yes, but if I had been –”

            “It doesn’t matter, cause you aren’t one, babe. That’s as clear as day.” _He may be the most hopelessly oblivious mercenary I’ve ever seen._

            “Never mind, Mon Cher. Let’s go home.”

            “You know, if that piece of scrap metal upset you, I can go back and kill him, babe. I didn’t wait ten years for some jerk to give you a hard time and make you doubt yourself.”

            “It’s not that … It’s nothing, Mon Cher. I think perhaps I owe you something deep inside of you.”

            “I thought you’d never offer, babe!” _Maybe dating him wouldn’t be so bad after all._


	2. Reverse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scaramouche so desperately wants to ride Francis. Francis reminds him he should be resting and recovering, yet concedes to his housemate's request.

**Reverse**

            Recovering or not, Scaramouche was hands down stronger than Francis. The agreement for sex had been made only seconds before Scaramouche grabbed under the shorter robot’s arms and tossed him on the bed as if he weighed nothing. Flat on his back, Francis went to sit back up, only to be topped by Scaramouche.

            “I want to ride that glorious cock of yours, babe,” the signature smirk widened. The seductive tongue traced across his lips as he ground his hips into Francis’.

            “Alright, Mon Cher, but take it easy. You’re still not at 100% yet.” _Although he should be by this point. Perhaps I messed up his system more than I fixed it?_

            “But you take it too slow, babe. I want you _pounding_ in me, hitting all the spots that you know how to hit so well. For once, I just want to be on top, babe.” Francis grunted as Scaramouche continued to circle his hips on his member. The buttons on the purple coat were undone quickly, the garment flung from his shoulders with a quick shrug. He had half the buttons flung open on Francis’ shirt before Francis could get his pants undone.

            Scaramouche reached under the pants waistband, gradually working them over Francis’ hips. Both fully undressed, Scaramouche resumed sliding his opening across the exposed member.

            “I’m all wet and you aren’t even inside of me yet, babe,” Scaramouche purred, rolling his hips in a circular motion.

            “Don’t overdue yourself,” Francis warned again, as Scaramouche stopped grinding his hips and began teasing with his fingers.

            “Don’t worry so much, babe. Just sit back and enjoy the ride!” _Not that I had any other choice_. Yet, Francis could not help the groan as Scaramouche sank to the hilt. The circular motions resumed as Scaramouche leaned forward to flick the nipples with his fingers. After a few minutes, Scaramouche sped his motions, now holding onto Francis’ shoulders to keep his balance. The joints inside of his body contracted rapidly against Francis’ cock, nearly causing him to buck up. Finally, Scaramouche noticed the restraint.

            Arching his back, Scaramouche leaned forward further and began kissing Francis. The French robot accepted his tongue in his mouth, wrapping his own around it for a sense of control. He nearly bit off the appendix as Scaramouche bounced on his knees. He raised himself to the very tip of Francis’ member before slamming himself back down to take the full length inside of him. Francis felt every moan that rattled through Scaramouche’s frame as he breathed them into his own mouth.

            Francis gurgled another warning, but realized the guest tongue was preventing any coherent speech. Scaramouche had since closed his eyes, his features otherwise looking relaxed. Relenting, Francis reached out his idle hands and cupped the hips bouncing on him. If it came to it, he could lock a fist underneath them to slow down the adamant robot, but for now, he breathed his own praise.

            Suddenly, after five minutes of the incessant pounding, Scaramouche froze, jerking up to attention. A clear liquid dripped from his mouth as he stared at the ceiling, rubbing at his own clit. _He’s got a lot of liquid for a robot_ , Francis mused, toes curling slightly as he forced his hips flat on the bed. Scaramouche rode out his orgasm with a few more back and forth grinding motions, the shudder racking his body.

            “Sorry, babe, I … I don’t have your … endurance. Let me just … a minute.”

            “Mon Cher, do not worry about me, I can finish up,” he lied effortlessly.

            “No, no … You’re close, babe. Let me.” Scaramouche began grinding his hips back and forth again, albeit slower than he started.

            “Look at me, Mon Cher. Let me make sure you are not wearing yourself out.” He reached out towards Scaramouche’s head, but his arms were too short. Without the scarf, he could not pull him forwards.

            “I’m fine, babe. Just needed,” he trailed off with a groan, tilting his head up towards the ceiling.

            “You don’t sound fine,” Francis commented, pushing himself to a seated position. His efforts were thwarted as Scaramouche swept the nearest arm out from under him.

            “I’m,” he spoke another few syllables, but they were incomprehensible before he let out a painful cry.

            “Please, Mon Cher. Stop!” Scaramouche let out another strand of incomprehensible syllables before bouncing on his knees like before. After only a minute, he froze again.

            There was a terrible screech before dead silence. Not even the faint whirl of machinery lingered. Scaramouche pitched forward, his chest flat across Francis’ face.

            “Mon Cher! Are you alright?” He threw himself to the side, rolling Scaramouche to his back. A trail of burnt oil leaked from both corners of his mouth. His opening gleamed with the liquid of a second and ruined orgasm. Francis arousal was gone in a moment. He climbed next to Scaramouche’s head, feeling around the throat for the faint sign of life. There was a slight vibration as the most basic critical functions continued on.

            Francis sat in silence, trying to calm down his compressors. He cleaned the liquid from Scaramouche before dressing himself. After he could no longer stand the pained expression on Scaramouche’s face, he went to the kitchen. He prepared an oil and coolant fluid mixture for Scaramouche as soon as he awoke.

            “You had quite a la petite mort, Mon Cher?” Francis hoped his fear was well masked by the time Scaramouche began to stir. He slowly pulled the robot’s head into his lap, sitting him up just enough to take a drink.

            “I don’t feel so well, babe,” he moaned, refusing the glass at his lips.

            “I know. This will make you feel better.” Scaramouche had turned his head away stubbornly. Instead, he gagged, his body jerking. Francis was quick with a cloth, having one on the night stand just in case. He let the burnt oil seep into the fabric, throwing it away once Scaramouche leaned back against him.

            “Please, Mon Cher, have a drink. Your fluids are low.” Finally, Scaramouche accepted. He lapped at it greedily as Francis tilted it up.

            “Did you cum yet, babe?” Using his feet, he pushed himself further into Francis’ lap, trying to nuzzle against him.

            “I am fine, Mon Cher. It’s you who I was worried about.”

            “I don’t know why you’re so much better than me, babe. I figured I would be decent at least. I’m a literal power house, babe!” he lamented.

            “A recovering one,” Francis reminded, stroking the powerful jaw. “You need to take it a little slower for now. When your strength has returned, we can go harder.”

            “Good. I’m glad you’re agreeing to date me for the long run, babe.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to Salacious Shipping for allowing me to borrow Francis! You can find more information about their artwork here (https://goo.gl/1t59on) and their Patreon here (https://www.patreon.com/ssnsfw/posts).


	3. Suffered Enough

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As jealously tears at him, Francis can do nothing except stare as Scaramouche fingers himself.

**Suffered Enough**

                                                                 

Jealousy tore at him as he watched silently. Amidst all his skills in the bedroom, he was not built with the capability to pleasure himself. _Because it wasn’t my job, I didn’t get that right_ , he thought bitterly, wishing his could stroke his own member for something greater than the urge to orgasm that he could never achieve by himself. Sure, his member twitched slightly at the sight, but that would be all. There was no circuitry in place for him to fantasize.

The object in question must have had capacity to spare. Scaramouche had already brought himself to orgasm, the stifled shout the reason Francis was now at the door. Now, he was working diligently on a second one, face down in the pillows as his fingers plunged inside of himself rapidly.

 _All I’d have to do is ask to join. He’d say yes in a millisecond_. Francis knew he could not. After all the years of it being forced on him, he could not imagine asking to do so to someone else. It did not matter how many times he and Scaramouche had fucked: he needed an invitation.

Biting on his own fingers, he swallowed down a needy whimper as Scaramouche removed his fingers and began tracing the rim. The fluid from the first orgasm clung to his fingers, leaving a shine to the metal frame as he sighed in content.

Every circuit of his being told him not to. The inability to fully pleasure himself would only result in frustration the worse the sensation became, but he could not help it. His fingers worked into his own pants as he stroked himself. If only he could pretend it was Scaramouche’s hand on him instead. He willed the image to mind, closing his eyes, but it was no use. It was his own hand, and he knew it. The pleasure grew, but so did the need to cum. Vile oil rose in his own throat at the inability to achieve more, pleasure morphing into pain. He nearly swore under his breath, managing to tear his fingers away before he made the situation worse.

“How long are you going to leave me hanging, babe?” Scaramouche finally called out. Staggering over his own feet, Francis tumbled to the floor with a shout of surprise. “I’m getting close to my second, not sure if I can go for a third, and I know you last a lot longer than I do, babe.” He swayed his hips, keeping two fingers at the widest part of the rim.

“M-mon Cher, I … I –”

“Come on, babe. Whip it out and fuck me. I’ve got it all warmed up for you, Francis, baby.” The blue eyes finally appeared as he pulled his head off the pillow and glanced between the arm holding him up and his legs. “I’m even staying low because I know your legs aren’t as long as mine!” Francis would have scolded him, but he was tearing at his pants, shoving them off as he clambered onto the bed.

“Ooh! I haven’t seen you this excited before, babe!” Scaramouche purred, rocking back into Francis’ frantic thrust. “Not even enough time to get your shirt off, huh, babe?”

“I’m sorry! I couldn’t … couldn’t help myself.”

“Harder, babe! Yes! That’s it!” Scaramouche sang out Francis’ name, clawing at the sheets as he came a second time. Legs trembling, Scaramouche slid flat on his stomach. Francis followed, lying on top of him as he thrusted roughly. He was scraping his fingers against the metal sides, trying to get a strong enough grip so he could force himself even deeper. Scaramouche chirped happily with every thrust.

“Scara!” he cried out, plunging in deep as he felt himself finally come. Collapsing forward, he tried to keep his body from shutting down after such an intense session.

“Ohh, Francis, baby! You really know how to hit all the right spots.” Scaramouche only received a slurred answer.

“I like having you deep inside me, babe. Why don’t you just stay like that?” Francis did not need another word of encouragement as he felt himself lose conscious.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to Salacious Shipping for allowing me to borrow Francis! You can find more information about their artwork here (https://goo.gl/1t59on) and their Patreon here (https://www.patreon.com/ssnsfw/posts).


	4. Don't Touch Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scaramouche tries to eat Francis out only to be severely disappointed.

**Don’t Touch Me**

 

            “Mm, Francis, baby, let me taste you.” The long tongue teased the member, lapping at the base of his member. _He’s getting better,_ Francis smiled, resting a hand on the bobbing head.

            “What about this port, babe? I want my tongue deep inside of you!” The tongue slipped easily inside of Francis. He tensed, now tightly grabbing Scaramouche’s head.

            “Mon Cher … maybe not.”

            “Mmm, such a good track, babe. It’s so smooth!”

            “Non. Non, Mon Cher. I can’t!” The tongue was fully extended writhing against the track for only a second longer. Thrashing his feet, he landed a solid hit on Scaramouche’s shoulders, shoving him away. Francis did not try to decipher the look. It might have been hurt or shock, but Francis was already throwing his body to the far side of the bed.

            “Did … did I hurt you, babe?” Francis flinched as the hand touched his exposed shoulder. He shrugged it off, lying down to face the wall and pulling the sheets over him.

            “Can’t.” He clutched the sheets tightly, bringing them up to his chin.

            “But-but did I _hurt_ you, Francis, baby? I thought … I thought you would like that. It feels so good when you do it to me, babe.” He crawled closer, peering over Francis’ shoulder. “Are you … what’s wrong, babe?”

            “Not … not tonight.”

            “Do you want me to go back to my room, babe?” At the admission of the whimper, Scaramouche took a risk and touched Francis’ shoulder again. He felt the tremors wracking the smaller frame. “Can I do something for you, babe?” Finally, Francis shook his head.

            “I’m alright, Mon Cher,” the nearly silent whisper came. The long fingers stroked the shoulder for a few moments before Scaramouche laid down next to him. Wrapping his arm around Francis’ chest, he pulled him close.

            “I don’t want to tonight,” Francis whimpered, holding the arm in place lest it slip lower on his body.

            “No, babe. We won’t. It’s alright. I’ve got you, babe.” He wrapped his legs around him protectively. “I need to know if I hurt you, Francis, baby.”

            “Non, you didn’t, Mon Cher. It wasn’t you.”

            “Who hurt you, babe?” Scaramouche cooed, nuzzling into his hair. “Tell me, and I’ll kill them.”

            “He’s dead,” Francis whispered, still skeptical of the arms around him.

            “Did you kill him, babe?” He felt the hair slide vertically across his face. “Good.” Francis could not help a small smile at the approval from the much more powerful fighter.

            “There was just … a lot of bad memories, Mon Cher. I’m not … I can’t deal with them now.”

            “Can’t I make more pleasurable ones sometime, babe?”

            “Non. I … don’t have that capability. I wasn’t built with it.” His body was pulled tighter against Scaramouche’s. For once, the taller one was silent.

            “I’m sorry, Mon Cher. I … didn’t know what to do. I don’t … I’m sor –”

            “Babe, you don’t need to apologize to me. It’s my fault. I should have asked you first. I wanted to surprise you, baby. I don’t ever want to hurt you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to Salacious Shipping for allowing me to borrow Francis! You can find more information about their artwork here (https://goo.gl/1t59on) and their Patreon here (https://www.patreon.com/ssnsfw/posts).


	5. Patience

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The benefit of being a sexbot meant that Francis knew exactly how to make his partner feel the maximum amount of pleasure. The problem with Scaramouche was that he was impatient.

**Patience**

 

            “Come on, Francis, baby! Fuck me already!”

            “Mon Cher, I will. Do not worry.” He continued to tease around the entrance with his fingers while gently kissing the lower half of his jaw. A needy whimper rang out as one digit slipped in to the second knuckle. “It will feel even better if you let me prep you first. Let me find all the sensitive locations, and then I will satisfy you.”

            “B-but, babe,” he sang out a moment before recovering enough to speak. “D-don’t you want to … now?” A soft smile graced Francis’ features as he added a second finger and pressed on the pleasure points.

            “Oui, but it will be better this way. Patience, Scaramouche.” The robot clenched around the fingers, grinding his hips upward to increase the stimulation. The clear, thick fluid oozed over Francis’ hand as he slowly worked along the tract.

            “Oh, baby! I n-n-neh … need you.” With one more kiss to his jaw, Francis put himself into position, pulling out his fingers and stroking his own member. Scaramouche’s hands were at his back, pulling at him, clawing at him. The member slid across the opening, the clear liquid clinging to it.

            “Are you ready, Mon Cher?” Francis purred, struggling not to be pulled down by Scaramouche.

            “FUCK ME, BABE! PLEASE!” The noise of satisfaction was sung to the ceiling. Francis had only slipped in a few centimeters, still toying with him, but the legs wrapped around him and pulled him fully inside. Grinding down, he could feel every pulse of the metal surrounding his cock. He kept it easy, bringing a gradual build to the pleasure evident by the increasingly disjointed moans of pleasure. Rocking his hips forward, he moved as much as he could in the tight embrace, pressing against the pleasure centers he had found.

            His smaller frame was crushed against Scaramouche’s as the taller robot orgasmed. While the taller robot cooled, Francis nuzzled into his chest, kissing the metal frame. The urge to thrust into Scaramouche was strong, but years of practice paid off as he laid still. He waited as Scaramouche ran his fingers through his hair.

            “Mm, again, babe?” Francis answered with a few gentle thrusts, the legs around him having loosened considerably. He rose up on his knees, rocking into Scaramouche harder. After only a few minutes, he had Scaramouche singing his praise again, stimulating the pleasure centers with each precise thrust.

            “Francis, baby, go harder!” The legs were tightening around him again, but he managed to increase his pace. Slipping a hand between their bodies, he traced the clit, smiling as Scaramouche writhed into him. His back had arched up so high, he nearly bucked off Francis, but Francis held tight with one arm as he continued working the area between his fingers.

            “Ah-ha, baby! DON’T STOP!” Francis sped his moments just enough push Scaramouche over the edge again, feeling more fluid gush against his member. His own member twitched, nearly ready. The remnants of the orgasm were still racking Scaramouche’s body, so he clung to him, biting his tongue to hide the painful restraint.

            “Mon Cher, I need to finish soon, but I don’t want to overwhelm you. Let me know … when I can,” he let out a pitiful whimper, nearly denting the metal frame as he squeezed tighter.

            “Go ahead, babe! You don’t … don’t have to wait for me.” Scaramouche did not give him a chance to protest, instead grinding up into him. Abandoning his tactics, Francis thrusted into him, unable to hold off his own needs any longer.

            “I’m sorry, Mon Cher,” he whispered into the frame as he came.

            “Francis, baby … you feel so fabulous!” The fact that their orgasms did not line up gnawed at his mind as he silently fingered Scaramouche a few more minutes. _We’ve done this a few times. I should be able to get the timing right. What’s wrong with me?_

            “Mm, you really do know how to hit all the right spots, babe,” Scaramouche smiled down at him with half closed eyes. “Do you want to go again, babe? My tongue could use a workout.”

            “That was plenty for me, Mon Cher.”

            “Yeah? You don’t look happy about something, babe.” He traced his fingers down Francis’ back, making sure to stop before he reached the hip joint. “And you always make me cum three times as much as you do. Only seems fair that I should return the favor.”

            “Really, Scaramouche, that’s enough.” _More than anyone else cares._

            “Anytime you want a blowjob, babe, you let me know. I can’t wait for your cum to run down my throat again!” Sliding the robot up along his frame, he nuzzled onto the top of Francis’ head, bidding him goodnight before powering down.

            “Thank you, Mon Cher. You’re really too good to me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to Salacious Shipping for allowing me to borrow Francis! You can find more information about their artwork here (https://goo.gl/1t59on) and their Patreon here (https://www.patreon.com/ssnsfw/posts).


	6. Only A Kiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It had been years since Francis had taken a client, but with rent due in a few days, he makes an exception for the right price.

**Only a Kiss**

            “Is this seat taken?”

            “Pardon?” Francis jerked his head up. Scaramouche made a noise of disapproval as the hand stopped stroking his head, but did not bother opening his eyes. The robot in front of Francis gestured at the seat across from them with a soft smile. “Oh, no, Monsieur. The seat is free.”

            “Thank you.” Returning his attention to the head and shoulders on his lap, Francis resumed stroking along the jaw and  throat. The feeling of being watched loomed on him. Using the reflection on the window, he could see the robot across from them try to discreetly follow the movements of his fingers. _I shouldn’t have let Scaramouche talk me into wearing this_ , Francis sighed to himself. _At least he’s not making a move_.

            “Are we almost there yet, babe?”

            “Another hour, Mon Cher.” Scaramouche groaned, turning his head and nuzzling into Francis’ crotch.

            “Don’t know how I’d did these long trips without you, babe.” His prayers for silence went answered. Rotating his whole body, Scaramouche rolled to his side, snuggling against Francis with his back to the other passenger. Tracing short lines along his throat seemed to soothe him, and he powered down for the time being.

            Francis could not understand how Scaramouche would allow himself to be so vulnerable with so many possible enemies. They all seemed to know and greet him, but Francis could not imagine having the confidence to g o into stasis in public. Instead he endured their nineteenth hour of travel, dreading the three hour train back home where he would not have Scaramouche around.

            Happening to glance up, he made eye contact with the robot in front of him. The robot had pulled out his laptop and was working silently, but bestowed a quiet smile on Francis.  Francis hesitantly returned a nod, glaring down at the floor. _He seems too well off to be interested in me in the least. The pressed business suit, formal demeanor …he must just be returning from a long trip and everything looks good to him._

            “We’re almost there, Mon Cher.” A gentle nudge finally woke Scaramouche. They filed out with the rest of the riders, fingers linked as they wove through the crowd.

            “That’s my ride over there, babe.”

            “Wait!” Scaramouche froze in his tracks, glancing down at Francis. After another moment of hesitation, Francis grabbed the scarf and pulled Scaramouche down towards him.

            “Be safe, Mon Cher.” He rose up on his toes, throwing his arms around Scaramouche’s neck. The kiss was gentle. For once, he was oblivious of the stares. They did not faze him now. Only Scaramouche mattered, who had never looked more pleased to be with him.

            “You’re making it hard to leave, babe,” Scaramouche purred, giving him one last peck on the nose. “It’s only a few weeks. I’ll call when I can, baby!” They parted with a quick admission of love before Scaramouche found his escort and disappeared inside the vehicle. Once the car had gotten lost among the other leagues of traffic, Francis sighed. He still had two hours before his return trip. After downloading a copy of the free newsletter, he found a vacant bench.

            “Are you off the clock?” Francis’ head shot up at the familiar voice. _Should have buttoned up my shirt as soon as Scaramouche was gone. I knew this was bound to happen_.

            “I’m waiting for my train.”

            “I would like to make you an offer.” _Rent will be due in two days, and spending all the time with Scaramouche really put me behind. Perhaps I should hear him out?_ Francis mused before fighting the urge to shake his head. _No. Never again. I’ve been better about paying. Perhaps the banks will cut me some slack. I’ll just need a few days. I’m close._ Instead, the robot took the silence as an invitation to continue.

            “If you’re no longer working for Scaramouche, I would be interested in hiring you. On your terms, of course. Would you accept –”

            “I’m not interested.”

            “$3,000 for a kiss?” Francis tensed, eyes wide. _That’s more than I could have made in three days. Three miserable, painful days._

            “I’m sorry, is that … too low?” The robot tilted his head sadly.

            “My sincerest apologies, Monsieur, I am a bit jet lagged. I have been awake for twenty-eight hours. $3,000 for a kiss?”

            “Is that a reasonable price for you?” _No. That’s far too much._

            “Oui. Perhaps a more private area?”

            “Of course! I’ll rent a room for a few hours. Perhaps you would like to take a nap afterwards?” _I was thinking just behind the building. I won’t sleep now. That’s a stupid idea in front of a client, but I’ll play along._ Francis trailed behind the robot as he hurried at a brisk pace to the nearby hotel. He booked a room for three hours. They had not exchanged another word until the door was closed.

            “How would you like me to start, Monsieur?” _And how do I make a single kiss worth $3,000?_ Francis removed his hat, setting it on the desk before turning back to the robot. He let a softened smile drape across his features, his eyes partially closed.

            “I’m only paying for something simple,” but Francis could see the desire on his features. He closed the gap between them in a few strides, gently running his fingers against the smooth head. Tilting his own head, he leaned forward, planting a soft kiss against the other robot’s puckered lips.

            “Thank—” Francis leaned in again, cutting off the words. After two more fleeting kisses, he locked his lips against the robot’s. Feeling one hand weaving into his hair, Francis tried to locate the second hand as he pulled his client closer with a firm hand on the center of his back. He felt it snake around his own back, clutching at his vest.

            Francis welcomed the tongue in his mouth. _It would not be a real kiss without it,_ he grimaced. Sucking it further in, he wrapped his own tongue around it expertly. He dropped his hand from the head to the neck, feeling the accelerated pulsing of oil through the robot’s frame. Francis’ own body was reacting strongly, but not out of lust. Greed fueled him on, inspired further as the robot let out a timid moan.

            Francis nearly backed away when his client thrust involuntarily towards him. Turning his body to keep their hips from meeting again, he let his client grind against his leg instead. Tolerating it for a few more moments, Francis pulled away, preparing to readjust before leaning back; however, his client had taken a step back.

_Am I that out of practice?_

            “Monsieur,  is everything alright?”

            “That was,” _Not enough, was it?_ The robot turned away, fighting down another moan. “More than I expected. Would you … would you be interested in a full hour?”

            “Monsieur, I am sorry.” _No. That was more than enough for me. This is not where I want to be. I have Scaramouche now._ The realization hurt more than he expected. “I … can’t.”

            “Oh, of course. Thank you for uh,” he gestured helplessly back at Francis. “I understand. You’re tired. If you’re in the area again, and interested in more work, please contact me.” The robot pulled a business card from his brief case.  _Regan? Ah, a trade negotiator from quite a reputable company. No wonder he has money to spare._ “Here’s the room key. I have a business dinner later this evening, but I can wait in the office. You have the room until 7 pm.” He turned over the room key, and pulled out an envelope, counting out the money he had promised.

            “Should I ask room service to send up something for you?” Regan asked, studying the trembling fingers as he forfeited the money.

            “No, thank you, Monsieur. I’m looking forward to my return trip and a deep recharge.” _I need to talk to Scaramouche about my past. He needs to know this._

            “Rest. And thank you again.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to Salacious Shipping for allowing me to borrow Francis! You can find more information about their artwork here (https://goo.gl/1t59on) and their Patreon here (https://www.patreon.com/ssnsfw/posts).


	7. Just This Once

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Francis had hoped the one kiss would be all he ever had to do, but a bounty hunting injury forces him to seek other means to pay the hospital bills.

**Just this Once**

 

            “What’s up, babe?”

            “Scaramouche … I need to ask you a question.”

            “About the marriage date, babe?”

            “Please Mon Cher,” he begged. “Just listen for a moment.” The line was silent save for the remnants of a fight Scaramouche was likely winning. Francis fought down the vile oil in his throat.

            “There’s a … an opportunity that came up. It pays well, but—”

            “Is it unsafe, babe?” Scaramouche interrupted. While Francis considered the question, he could hear several metallic clangs on Scaramouche’s side.

            “I-I don’t think so?” _If the first encounter was any indication, it will probably be the safest job I’ve had_.

            “So what’s the issue, Francis, baby? Want me to take it on with you? It’s still a week before I finish with this.” The phone frame groaned in his hands.

            “Babe?” There was a distant cry of pain on Scaramouche’s side before the silence overtook them both.

            “I just wanted to know if it was okay to take it.” Each word came out slowly, dangerously lingering in the air.

            “Of course, baby! You don’t have to ask my permission. You can take any job you want, babe! If you’re not at home when I get back, I’ll just wait at the local hotel.” _Any job?_

            “Are you sure?” _Mon Cher, are you truly sure?_

            “As long as you don’t kill yourself or get yourself killed, sure! Why not? I don’t care what job you take, babe. It won’t bother me.” _He doesn’t understand!_

            “Listen, babe, hate to cut this short, but I have to skedaddle. I’ve got a runner on my hands. Love you, babe!” Francis found himself murmuring the same.

 _This is wrong. I can’t betray him._ The crinkled business card bent further in his fist. Even the subtle movement brought pain searing up his arm, and he cried out. _I need my hand fixed. I won’t be able to do anything without it, but it’ll cost an arm and a leg without insurance._ Prying the nearly ruined card from his equally mangled hand, he flattened it on the table. He dialed.

            “This is Regan, primary trade negotiator. How may I help you?”

            “Hello, Monsieur. It’s Francis. We met at the train station last week.” There was a moment of silence before the recognition clicked.

            “Ah, yes. Francis, you said? I don’t believe I got your name last week. Are you feeling better?”

            “Oui, I am. Thank you.” _If there had been other clients like him, I would not have stopped so soon._ “I will have some free time in the next few days if you would like to schedule a … meeting. Perhaps tomorrow evening?”

            “Wonderful! It would be best to discuss details when you arrive.” Francis nodded knowingly. “I’ll send a taxi to the train station.”

            “I will text you the details once I book a train ticket.”

            “I’m very excited that you changed your mind. I will see you tomorrow, Francis.” As soon as the line went dead, Francis let the fake grin fall from his face.

            “Pathetic!” he spat at himself, slamming his fists on the table. Half of his vision dissolved into static at the resounding pain. Before he could stop himself, he vomited , throwing his head forward to keep it from staining his shirt. He vocalized the pain and disgust at himself for a few more minutes, before he pulled himself together.

            _First thing’s first. I need to get my hand fixed._

~/~

            Cradling his right hand, now in a protective case, Francis watched as the surrounding mansions whizzed by. After the three hour train ride, the driver had informed him it would be another half hour. _Plenty of time to fray my nerves even more._

            They stopped in front of a larger house. Francis provided a small tip before letting himself out. Forcing his feet to move, he shuffled to the front door. _This was a mistake._ Trembling fingers managed to ring the doorbell.

            “Francis! I’m so happy to see you.” He extended his hand, eyes beaming brightly. The expression wavered slightly, a look of intense longing flickered across before the typical business smile replaced it.

            “Monsieur, I will have to forgo the handshake this time.” They both cast down a look at the cased hand. “My parts are on backorder, so I must wait a few more days.”

            “Oh! What happened?” He gingerly took the cast into his hands, inspecting the work as if making sure it was done correctly.

            “Just an unfortunate accident.” Francis did not dare reveal more. People in positions of power tended to be on Aku’s good side, and he figured there was no point in testing how far Regan’s tolerance would go. “It’s only a minor inconvenience.”

            “Can I get you anything? Have you eaten? Would you like to rest for a bit after your travels?” The questions were fired off rapidly, Francis unable to answer one before the next one was thrown at him.

            “Thank you, Monsieur, but I am fine.” _About to vomit, but fine. No need to be concerned about me._

            “How about a glass of wine as we discuss your fee?” Francis nodded, allowing his client to guide him into the house, rushing him into the living room. Once seated, Regan inquired several times to make sure Francis was content.

            _He must hope to negotiate a lower fee with this amount of care_ , Francis mused, swirling the wine in his glass and regarding it as he was taught to for a moment before taking a sip. Regan proudly rattled off the crop and year. _Surely he knows he severely overpaid me before._

            “How long of a shift are you interested in working?” Francis pondered the question, studying Regan’s face. His clients either wanted him for a very long and painful couple of hours to get their money’s worth or the whole night so they could see how long his abused system could go.

            “I would be willing to work for the night, until 2 am. Tomorrow morning I must return home.” _And I’ll let him start the negotiation process. Perhaps he’ll be willing to shell out $5,000? That should be enough to start paying off the hospital again._

            “Wonderful! I don’t know what your usual rates are, but would $10,000 suffice?” Francis took another sip of wine, closing his eyes to appear that he was focused on the quality. He needed to hide his shock. _Ten times what my rate is, Regan. Quite an acceptable number_.

            “Oui, that seems fair to me.”

            “Are you sure that’s enough?” hints of fear splashed across his face, mixed in with hesitance. “You did come all the way out here.”

            “It’s fine, Monsieur. What would you like me to do first?” _Please don’t be sadistic._ Regan was focusing on his glass too intently, but Francis did not mind. The clock was already ticking, and he would only have to endure seven hours of whatever Regan had in mind. He liked picking his own hours.

            “Why don’t … we go upstairs?” A single nod was all Francis provided, as Regan took his empty glass and left both in the kitchen. Regan led the way, walking stiffly, compared to the other times Francis had seen him. _Perhaps he has not hired one before? Surely others would have offered, especially at such a good price. Unless the next step is that bad._ Francis shook the thought from his mind, much more at ease with the normal looking bedroom. Granted, it was thrice the size of his own and much more lavishly decorated, but nothing made him panic. There was the additional faint whirl of compressors, which Francis picked up on. _He’s new to this. New, and embarrassed._ Francis could not help but pity him a bit.

            “Sit down on the bed, Monsieur. I can show you what I can offer. Is there anything you do not want me to do?”

            “Um … no? I don’t think so.” He perched on the foot of the bed, as Francis worked to maintain his charming bedroom persona. It came back to him too easily.

            “Very good. Let me help you relax.” Leaning forwards, he gently tilted Regan’s head up to plant a languid kiss on his lips. The client’s tongue slipped in his own much quicker this time, tentatively exploring. Francis met the movements with his own tongue and caressed Regan’s head gently. Pleased with the moan of pleasure, Francis kissed him harder, pushing into him as he allowed his hands to slide down to his shoulders. After another moment, Francis backed away, kissing about the lower jaw as he sank to his knees.

            “Are you already for me, Monsieur?” he asked as he gently nudged the knees apart and nosed into his crotch. There was no need for an answer, as he could feel the extension had already been put in place.

            “S-sure.” _Too bad it’s rude to ask if I’m his first. We could really get a good dialog on what he wants otherwise_. The buttons came open easily. Francis stroked the member a few times, making sure to praise its appearance. A quick kiss to the tip ensued before he teased it with his tongue. Prodding along the head and underside with the tip of his tongue, he found the pleasure centers easily based on the slight change of tone in the moan and the twitch of the appendix. Once the pleasure centers had been activated to Francis’ satisfaction, he took the first two inches into his mouth.

            “T-that feels … very good. Thank you.” Regan purred, massaging Francis’ head with one hand and leaning back on his other. Francis bobbed his head, prodding along the underside to keep the pleasure centers active. _Maybe I was wrong? He’s had experience before. Otherwise, he would be thrusting into my mouth uncontrollably._ Going deeper, Francis felt the tip probe the back of his throat. He felt safe.

            With his nose pressed against Regan’s stomach, he gently bobbed his head, skillfully wrapping his tongue around the member. The massage had stopped, a fist holding his hair tight. There was  a slight tug, but he could tell Regan was successfully fighting the impulse to jerk his head forward.

            Francis was surprised he had to reactivate the pleasure centers several times. _His endurance is high, but that means the finale will be better for him._ Letting the member slide from his mouth, he glanced up seductively.

            “Monsieur, you can thrust into my mouth at your leisure.” _A reminder I don’t usually have to give._

            “You’ll … you’ll let me know if I’m too rough?”

            “Oui.” Francis resumed suckling on the first two inches, feeling both hands on his head. His head was eased forward and back along the member. _Why weren’t there more like him?_ As his orgasm approached, Regan could not help but thrust forward , his feet firmly set on the floor.

            “Oh, Mistress!” Francis’ head was jerked forward quickly, the fluid spraying into his mouth. Francis had to tilt his head back to keep the artificial fluid from spilling over his lips. Regan was too distracted by the overwhelming pleasure to notice the gag. Managing to swallow the load and his own rising vile, Francis smiled up. _Mistress? How strange. I suppose I’ve been called worse._

            “You’re so good with your tongue,” Regan signed over the whirling circuitry, a gentle hand massaging his head again. “Do you need a break?”

            “I’m fine, Monsieur.” Regan was silent for a while. “Would you like me to do it again?”

            “I was, you know, hoping for some variety. . . Oh, no! I’m sorry. Whatever you want!” _Ah, perhaps it was too good to last. Although it would be quite unfair on my part._

            “Of course. Perhaps I should sit in your lap?” _If anything, I’ll still have control_. The option was met with a more sure nod. Francis left one last kiss on the tip of his member before rising to his feet, turning to the side as he unbuttoned his own trousers. He stilled his own hands, letting his pants drop to the floor as he gracefully sauntered forward.

            Straddling Regan’s legs, Francis encouraged Regan to slide back a bit to have his legs straight out on the bed. _No, no, not now_ , he swallowed roughly, still tasting oil in his mouth. With slow movements, Francis knelt on the bed, crawling forward until he was above Regan’s hips. He bit into his tongue as he abandoned all the pledges he had made to himself in the last five years.

            “Mm, Monsieur, you fill me so well,” Francis recited his old line slowly, closing his eyes so he did not have to see. Regan’s hands were at his hips, casually resting. As the bile rose again, Francis pulled Regan’s head against his chest. There was no resistance.

            Francis rolled his hips back and forth, making sure the pleasure centers were activated once again. Francis was still surprised at Regan’s resolve, not feeling an attempt to increase his own stimulation. Knowing he needed to perform or risk losing his promised salary, Francis began bouncing on his knees.

            After only a few minutes, Regan was moaning into his jacket, sending up praises every so often. The hands wrapped tightly around Regan occasionally stroked his head. _He doesn’t realize I’m preventing him from moving. That, or he’s not fighting._ Lying through his teeth, Francis forced himself to return the praise, claiming it was, of course, the best.

            _Fuck. I’m going to be sick._ Through clenched teeth, he could feel the oil oozing out the corner of his mouth. He rose himself to the very tip of Regan’s attachment, slowly easing his hips in a circle to stimulate the tip before he slammed himself to the hilt. It was the distraction he needed.

            Regan clutched him tight, nuzzling into his chest with a gasp of pleasure and a whimpered “Mistress!”  Francis quickly repeated the motion, using the inside of his sleeve to discreetly swipe at the spilling oil once he had taken all of Regan inside of him again. Yet, the movement of his hand had alerted Regan.

            “You’re not overtaxing yourself, are you?” Regan finally tried pulling away, managing to tilt his head back before Francis could reposition his arm. A look of concern clouded the pleasure.

            “No.” A tight lip smile appeared, as Francis rolled his hips distractingly.

            “Is that …? Never mind, it must have just been a shadow.” Francis pulled Regan’s head against him again, slowing rising and falling on his knees as he caressed Regan.

            “Relax, Monsieur. This is all about you.” Nerves finally under control, _for the time being_ , Francis risked faster movements. He bounced on his knees, making sure to always let Regan thrust up into him at a different angle to keep all the circuits engaged.

            “Oh, Mistress, you’re so amazing!” Yet, Francis knew what the tightening fingers at his hips meant. _He wants it faster_.

            Complying with the unspoken demand, Francis forced himself down harder. He went back to taking the full length inside of him with every downward motion. The one time he faltered and let out a quiet cry of discomfort, he was relieved to find that Regan’s quickened moans drowned it out.

            “Mistress!” The shout was the only warning he received. The artificial fluids filled the port, dripping down the embedded member. Every circuit begged him to get up and leave, but Francis remained still. Regan rested his head against his chest gently, the hands now draped across Francis’ own legs.

            “Thank you, Mistress,” Regan eventually murmured. “I think that will be all for me for the night.” He tensed, hurriedly adding “Unless you want to keep going!”

            “You still have a few more hours, Monsieur.” The words slipped out before Francis realized what he was saying. _Idiot! You blew the best gig of your career. Just get out, save face._

            “I know, but that’s more than worth what I’m paying you. You seem a bit … tired?” Regan tilted his head up, studying Francis for a  moment, but his face softened into a smile.

            “Do you want to … you know, for yourself? I don’t mind.” _Oh Regan, if only I had been built correctly with pleasure centers in my port._ _But I could use the privacy …_

            “Monsieur, I could not. It would be _very_ _unprofessional_ to do so in front of you.”

            “Oh … of course.” Regan gestured to his bathroom, hanging his head. Francis nodded appreciatively, raising himself off of Regan. He cupped one hand at his port, catching what he could of the draining liquid to dispose of it. Without a look back, he locked himself in the bathroom.

            The first wave barely made it into the sink. Gripping the sides, Francis just kept himself standing as the second wave of disgust struck him, making him sick again. _Keep it together. He still has not paid._ Feeling empty, Francis stood back up, grimacing at his own reflection and dulled eyes. Bearing his teeth, he frowned, washing his hand before taking a mouthful of water to rinse his mouth. Much to his relief, the foul oil washed away without a stain. After rolling up his sleeves to conceal the earlier stain, he exited.

            “Would you like to rest now?” Regan was still perched on his bed, smiling warmly. _Yes, but not here._

            “Are you sure I could not interest you in anything else?” Francis forced out.

            “You’re too kind, Mistress. I am sure, thank you. Why don’t you sleep in here? Please, just ask if you need anything in the night!” With a stiff nod, Francis made a beeline for his trousers, pulling them back on before going to the side of the bed Regan had indicated. He slid under the covers gingerly, as if they would rip if looked at in the wrong way.

            “Are you comfortable?” Regan posed hopefully as Francis finally settled. His eyes had followed Francis’ every movement closely.

            “Oui, thank you.” Francis played along, giving his fake smile, and forcing relaxation to come. It would not be enough to power off, but enough to look comfortable.

            “Good! I’m going to freshen up, and then I will come and join you. No need to wait up for me.” Regan strode off to his bathroom. Quickly, Francis readjusted, rolling to face away from Regan’s spot and closing his eyes. Prepared to wait, he did not move when Regan climbed in behind him five minutes later. He dared not resist as Regan snuggled next to him, one arm draped on his lower chest, the other under his neck and wrapped under his chin, both holding him tightly, like an oversized teddy bear.

            _It’ll all be over in just a few more hours. Then I’ll never be here again._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to Salacious Shipping for allowing me to borrow Francis! You can find more information about their artwork here (https://goo.gl/1t59on) and their Patreon here (https://www.patreon.com/ssnsfw/posts).


	8. The Last Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Francis decides to take one last long weekend with Regan before retiring from the sexbot industry for good.

**The Last Time ~~~~**

 

            “You know I would take you with me if I could, babe,” Scaramouche stared up with a hint of sorrow tainting his bright blue eyes.

            “It’s alright, Mon Cher. It’s just a week,” Francis assured him for the umpteenth time.

            “I hate leaving you so often, babe.” Taking the hand that was stroking his throat, Scaramouche brought the fingers to his lips, kissing each knuckle before sliding two fingers into his mouth and suckling on them. Francis jerked his knee up into Scaramouche’s back with a slight glare as he pulled his hand away.

            “Not here,” Francis pleaded quietly.

            “Sorry, babe. Next time I’ll book us a private carriage,” Scaramouche purred, folding his own hands on his chest as he settled back down on Francis’ lap. “But hopefully it will be a long time before I have to do that.” They reached their destination, Francis holding a little too tightly to Scaramouche’s hand as they made their way off the train.

            “Thanks for coming with me, babe,” Scaramouche leaned down, kissing Francis first on one cheek, then the other before locking lips with him. Francis let him go on for as long as he liked.

            “I’ll miss you, babe,” Scaramouche cupped Francis’ cheek for another moment, pressing one last soft kiss to his nose. “See you in a week, Francis, baby! Text me when you get home.”

            Waiting a half hour after he was certain Scaramouche was long gone, Francis finally hailed a cheap taxi. Texting Regan to alert him he was on his way, he settled in, ignoring the obnoxious stares from the other two occupants. The passenger in the front row was dropped off after ten minutes. The second passenger slid into the seat next to Francis.

            “Say, pretty girl, you’ve got gorgeous hair. You working tonight?” Francis was silent. “Why don’t you get off with me? I’ll pay you twice whatever you normally make for the night.” The passenger began running his fingers through Francis’ hair, twirling it around his finger.

            “That will be $20,000, payable upfront,” Francis responded coldly.

            “The fuck?” the passenger jerked away, staring Francis up and down. “There’s no way you’re worth ten grand.” _It’s true. I’m not, but you don’t need to know that._

            “If you’re not willing to shell out, then I suggest you remove your hand before I start charging you my hourly rate. The clock is ticking.” Francis ignored the intentional tug at his hair before the passenger slid to the far side, grumbling. He swore at Francis as he left, calling him a “cheap slut” before slamming the door. Francis instantly felt himself relax, no longer having to keep up the tough façade.

            “You okay back there?”

            “Oui, I am fine. Merci.”

            “We’ll be arriving in 20 minutes.” Francis nodded, relaying the message via a text. _Regan is gentle and he pays well. Scaramouche said I could take any job,_ he reminded himself in vain. Bile was rising in his throat again. _I still need the money. I can pay down the debt and get back on my feet. I’ll just need the money from this weekend to make it._ An onslaught of messages arrived from Regan, inquiring if he had eaten, and if Regan should make something or if they should go somewhere. Francis insisted that he had already eaten. _I could not keep down the rich oil he feeds me tonight. It was bad enough trying to eat breakfast with him last time._

            Francis thanked his driver and put on his adopted demeanor as he approached the house. Regan opened the door as he approached, gushing over him.

            “I’m glad you were able to fix your hand! Let me get you a glass of wine! Come in and make yourself at home!” Taking the seat from the last time he was over, Francis forced himself to relax before Regan pressed a glass into his hand.

            “We need to renegotiate the terms of your work.” Regan had kept his face even, but he looked tired. _I’m not good enough, and he knows it. I guess I can only hope he still offers a decent amount._ “I should have spoken to you about this last time, but you will have to forgive me: I was not in the right mindset. I had forgotten that I had not discussed my preferences with you when we first met. I did not want to bother you after the last session, as it was very clear that you were tired and in pain.” Francis winced at how observant Regan had been, but nodded for him to continue.

            “I need you to take full control in the sessions. Don’t ask me what I want or what I want to do unless it’s a rhetorical question. Dictate every movement from the time we start until you are done. You _have_ to dominate me. I only ask that you let me have one good orgasm per session.” Francis gave a single nod, taking a closed eyed sip of wine as he processed.

            “Don’t feel like you need to maintain traditions. Force me to watch you pleasure yourself. Make me help if you want. I _need_ you to be my mistress.” Francis caught the slight demeanor shift, watching as the formalities faltered and Regan had to fight to keep up the appearance. The longing was back in his eyes.

            “Please use me, mistress,” he whimpered, sliding to the floor and crawling towards Francis. “It’s been such a long week.”

            “Go to the bedroom, Monsieur. Prepare yourself for me.”

            “Yes, mistress.” Relief flooded through Regan’s face as he hurried off. _A sub? I should have seen that. And just when I thought this job could not get any better._ Francis drained his glass, leaving it in the sink before making his way upstairs.

            Regan had stripped completely, kneeling on the floor, his eyes glowing brightly. A smile graced his features as Francis looked him over.

            “Hmm, what should I do to you tonight?” Francis wondered out loud, tapping his chin. He hummed aloud again, slowly beginning to undo the buttons on his shirt. “Get on the bed, and lie on your back,” Francis commanded, shrugging the shirt from his shoulders. Letting the material fall to the floor, he eased his pants off, making sure Regan had a full view. Regan’s hands had crept to his own member, unable to resist the anticipation. _Do I tell him to stop? Forbid him to do so? Best not to push my luck tonight._

            Francis made his way over. Straddling Regan’s legs, he ran a finger down the length of Regan’s member, coyly watching as a shudder ran through the body below him. After several repetitions of the action, Francis making sure to work the pleasure centers, Regan let out a small whimper. An immediate apology for his eagerness was given.

            “If you want me, you have to beg, Monsieur,” Francis smirked, tracing the head of the member gently with his thumb.

            “Please ride me at your leisure, mistress!” Rising up on his knees, Francis crept forward the last foot. With Regan’s member lined up with his port, he slowly lowered himself. A purred thanks came from Regan as Francis rolled his hips. _I can’t believe he’s enjoying this._

            Francis rocked on his knees, watching as Regan closed his eyes with a soft smile. He went on for a while, keeping his movements shallow and easy. _I like him this pliable, but what if he bores? He might not tell me, and I’ll just be out of the job_.

            “Are you going to make me do all of the work?” Francis scolded patiently. Eyes snapping open, Regan offered another fast apology, rolling his hips to meet Francis. The praising resumed, Regan reiterating just how amazing Francis felt. As a reward, Francis sped his movements, grinding down into Regan’s upward thrusts.

            “Don’t you dare,” Francis stated bluntly. Regan locked his jaw, another whimper leaving his throat. “You must ask permission first.”

            “Please, mistress?”

            “Please, what?”

            “Please may I cum?” the whisper was a bit louder. Francis studied his face with abandonment, as if pondering.

            “I suppose. You may cum inside me.” The quickened movements pushed Regan over the edge in a few more minutes. Regan purred compliments as the liquid began to drip back down his own member. Allowing him to rattle on, Francis waited until he was sure Regan’s circuity would be cool enough for a second round.

            Offering his hand, Francis pulled Regan into a seated position. The praises stopped suddenly as Francis tilted the head up and pressed a kiss to his lips. _I don’t deserve half of his compliments_. Regan melted against him, eyes slipping closed. Keeping their lips locked, Francis began his movements again, slowly stimulating the member. Every gasp from his client was sighed into his mouth.

            He rode him gently for nearly an hour. The languid motions of Regan’s tongue had all but ceased; however, Francis was pleased with the relaxed expression. Picking up the pace, he felt Regan tense, the telltale signs he was about to cum obvious.

            “Go ahead,” Francis stated simply as Regan let out a timid whimper. The bile was at the back of his throat again as Regan filled him a second time.

            “Thank you, Mistress,” he purred quietly, resting his head against Francis’ chest. Holding him tight, Francis stroked his head, checking to see how much more energy he had. To his delight, Regan seemed finished for the night, trying to stay awake since he had not yet been dismissed.

            “Go to sleep, Monsieur. I believe we are done for the night. I’m going to get cleaned up.”

            “Francis, it’s really okay if you do it out here,” his eyes flickered back on a little brighter.

            “Hm, I don’t know if you deserve to see that yet,” Francis smirked, holding up the persona. Regan nodded, defeated. A sigh escaped him as Francis stood back up and made his way to the bathroom.

            _It wasn’t so bad,_ he reminded himself, eyes forced closed so he did not have to look at his own _pathetic_ reflection. _Not nearly as bad as the last one_. The mere hint of the thought brought back a flood of memories he had tried to repress. The porcelain pedestal sink was instantly stained as he heaved. He gripped the sides tightly, successfully preventing a second overflow. _Why am I so pathetic?_

~/~

            The buzzing phone kept him just from powering off. Regan had long since fallen asleep, limbs wrapped tightly around Francis.

            _Shit. I forgot to text him._

            Easing the phone from his pocket, Francis quickly answered, quietly letting Scaramouche know he was home safe and sound, adding he was just about to go to sleep.

            “Okay, babe. Just checking in. You do sound really tired. Was it a long ride home, babe?”

            “The usual, Mon Cher,” he lied.

            “Get some sleep, Francis, baby. Love you!” Scaramouche blew him a kiss. With a soft smile, Francis returned the sentiment, hanging up once the line went dead. _I wish I could sleep. Only fifty-four more hours to go_.

            Hearing the faint click and louder hum of circuits a few hours later, Francis bid Regan a good morning. Regan mumbled the same, snuggling back into Francis’ hair for a few more minutes. Finally untangling his limbs, he pulled away.

            “Did you sleep well?” Regan asked, his eyes still half closed as Francis rolled to face him.

            “Oui, I did. Thank you.”

            “Let me fix you some breakfast.” Appearing much more relaxed than when Francis arrived, Regan rolled out of bed, wandering to his closet to dress for the day. Francis stood up, smoothing out as many wrinkles as he could. _Regan doesn’t get to handsy at night. It may help to just sleep without clothes_ , Francis mused, running a hand through his hair to get out some of the tangles.

            Fully dressed, Regan returned, a small smile on his face. Francis saw the eyes glance him over, but it was not lust. _He must know I’m too cheap for his tastes_. Following his host, Francis took a seat at the kitchen table, steeling himself to accept the high quality oil Regan would bestow on him. _I guess I should count my blessings that he warms it up. It makes it easier to force down._

            “Here you are,” Regan beamed as he sat the bowl in front of him. Francis thanked him again, waiting for his host to sit down before he began. It was all he could do not to gag as the thick substance coated his mouth and throat. He kept his eyes downcast, too aware of Regan studying him.

            _Does he really think I need this much?_ Francis wanted to surrender after only a few bites, yet he knew Regan would be concerned, and possibly send him home to rest.

            “Is everything alright?” Regan inquired, nearly finished with his own meal.

            “Of course. I’m just a slow eater,” Francis glanced up, flashing a gentle smile. Feeling his lips tremble in disgust, Francis tilted his head back down, trying to speed his motions. _I … can’t._

            “Monsieur,” his voice nearly came out as a whimper. He closed his eyes, waiting until he thought he could keep his voice even. “Monsieur, I think I will have to save the rest for later. I …” _Feel sick._ “I am not very hungry this morning.”

            “Are you feeling okay, Francis?” Regan had shoved back his chair quickly, coming up beside him. Reaching out towards Francis’ chin, he hesitated.

            “I’m fine,” Francis forced a larger smile, taking Regan’s outstretched hand in both of his own. He gave a gentle squeeze before pushing it down. “I do not usually eat much in the morning.”

            “If you get hungry later, I’ll make you some more, okay?”

            “Merci.”

~/~

            “I picked this up for you after my meeting,” Regan presented him the wrapped parcel with a broad smile. Francis accepted the gift, trying to match Regan’s enthusiasm as fear began to consume him. _It’s not handcuffs. Is it a straitjacket? To use on him?_ Gingerly, mostly to hide the tremors that racked his fingers, Francis opened it.

            “A nightshirt?” The surprise was genuine.

            “Do you like it? Try it on! I can return it and get you a different size if it doesn’t fit. Or a different color if you don’t like it.” Francis excused himself, carefully examining the garment.

            _This is gorgeous. And I thought the meeting Regan had to go to was a gift from Aku. At least I got a few hours of rest_. Francis stripped off his outfit, slipping the sheer outfit over his shoulders. Regan had also picked up matching undergarments, which Francis was quite pleased with. _It’s a women’s shirt, but it fits just fine._ The price gnawed at him, and Francis wondered if he should offer to deduct if from the session.

            “Oh good, it fits! Do you like it? I saw that you didn’t have anything else to wear and thought it might be more comfortable to sleep in.”

            “Do you want me to deduct the price from today’s pay?” Regan’s eyes widened in shock.

            “No! Of course not! It’s a gift!”

            “Regan, you spoil me,” Francis pressed forward, forcing Regan backwards a few steps. He protected Regan’s head as he had him pressed against the wall and kissed him quickly. _Something quick ought to at least make it fair_. _I’d hate for him to change his mind later._

            “Francis, it’s still early. We can-” Francis shushed him with another kiss, feeling Regan wrap one arm around his waist, the other on the back of Francis’ head, pulling him closer, despite his protests.

            “Don’t you want dinner first? I could fix you –”

            “Perhaps I want you for dinner, Monsieur,” Francis purred before he kissed him harder, forcing his tongue into Regan’s mouth. Regan accepted it with a happy moan. Francis reached down with his free hand, undoing Regan’s trousers as he explored Regan’s mouth with his tongue. Fingers traced the attachment lightly, sending a shudder through them both.

            “Feed me, Monsieur.” Francis dropped to his knees, taking the full length into his mouth.

            “Of course, Mistress!” Regan rolled his hips forward obediently. Francis kept an eye out on Regan’s shaking knees, making sure he was not at risk for falling. To add some support, he held tight to Regan’s hips to keep him upright. Hands were grasping at his head, easing Francis forward and backwards a few inches.

            Forcing his head to move at a faster pace, Francis circled the member with his tongue. It snaked around, activating the pleasure centers.

            “Thank you, Mistress!” Having not expected such thanks for the gift, Regan moaned  pleasantly, needing one hand to hold himself up. Francis worked faster, teasing the underside roughly. Regan thrusted forward suddenly.

            “Oh! I’m so sorry, Mistress!” he whimpered, sliding to the floor, spent. He kept apologizing, unsure of whether to stroke Francis’ face or shy away for fear of punishment.

            “That’s exactly what I wanted,” Francis assured him, running his tongue over his upper lip.

~/~

            _What a strange turn of events,_ Francis mused. Regan’s head rested in his lap as he knelt on the floor before him, wrists bound behind his back. Still, he let out small, fleeting moans as Francis teased his member with his toes.

            “Do you like this, Monsieur, being at my feet?”

            “Yes, Mistress!” Regan nuzzled forward, trying to get closer to Francis’ body. _Sorry, Regan. You won’t get the satisfaction of sexually pleasuring me._ Without a word, Francis kept Regan at bay, instead rubbing his head tenderly.

            “Lay down on the bed, Monsieur. My feet are getting tired.” Regan quickly shoved himself from the ground, throwing himself on the bed beside Francis. Stripping off the new undergarments, Francis straddled his hips. He slid the port opening along the attachment a few times.

            “Much better,” Francis smirked, stifling the grimace as he lowered himself onto Regan’s attachment. Continuing to grind his hips forward and back, he ran his hands down Regan’s sides. They lingered in between plates just above the hips. Francis could feel the compressors best here, able to tell how aroused Regan was.

            _It’s hard to believe he’d get off so much to just a footjob._ Francis rolled up on his knees, to which he was awarded a shaky thanks. _And that he enjoys something gentle like this_. _At least it was an easy weekend on me._ Regan’s eyes were half closed, mouth slightly agape, and arms spread limply beside him.

            Francis sped his movements, varying the deepness and angle of the penetration. Regan’s head lolled back as he let out a pleased sigh.

            “Do you want to cum, Monsieur?”

            “Yes, please, Mistress!”

            “I’m not quite finished with you,” Francis hummed absently. This brought Regan to attention. His eyes snapped open and he starred up with a whimper, fists now clinched. _You can wait a bit longer. I won’t be unreasonable_.

            “Please, may I cum?” Regan posed, a bit of fear mixed in the lust.

            “Not yet.” A whimper escaped his trembling lips as Francis rode him faster. Francis could feel the oil compressors working harder at his fingertips, but he could see Regan fighting the growing need to orgasm.

            “Please?” Francis just shook his head  amidst the growing urgency.

            “I will tell you when.” Francis waited another minute, watching as Regan’s resolve crumbled and he feebly jerked his hips up into Francis. He waited until the last possible second.

            “Alright, you may cum.” The words were barely out of his mouth when Regan  bucked up into him, fluid forced to the end of the port before dripping back down the embedded member. The thanks, however genuine, were uttered weakly.

            “Let me clean this mess you made,” Francis teased, “and then we’ll go to sleep.”

~/~

            “Are you sure you don’t want to rest here a few more hours? You look exhausted! Was I too hard on your system?” _I don’t think you could have been more gentle._

            “I’m fine, Regan. I’ll be alright to head home now.” _I can’t risk Scaramouche coming home early._

            “Would you prefer a private ride home? I don’t mind renting you a taxi for the entire ride. Or I can book you a private room on the train?”

            “You are too kind,” Francis insisted, “I will be fine to take the train as usual.” Regan nodded, and Francis could see he was unwilling to argue the matter.        

            “How much do I owe you for the taxi from the train station?”

            “Just fifty.”

            “Fifty?” Regan glanced up from his checkbook with a tilt of his head. Francis affirmed. _It doesn’t matter if he thinks I’m cheap now. He won’t be hiring me again. I just need him to pay me the $30,000 for the three nights._ Francis held his gaze, keeping a neutral expression. Returning his attention to the table in front of him, Regan filled out the check and handed it to him.

            “Regan, that’s too much.” _Something I never thought I’d say in my life._ Regan had rounded the fifty up for a grand total of $31,000. Francis offered the check back to him, to void it. _Enough for the train ticket both ways, a nice private ride, and still enough left over._

            “Keep it, please. You do such an amazing job. But please, you need to rest and take care of yourself!” Regan pushed Francis hand back towards him. “And don’t thank me now. I have to go to work.” A longing smile cross his features as he guided Francis towards the front door. Francis noticed too much hesitation as Regan  reached for the door, and he wondered if he should provide a quick service.

            “Thank you.” Regan threw his arms around Francis, pulling him into a quick embrace. Initially stiffening at the show of affection, Francis returned the gesture, feeling Regan tense as well.

            “Let me know when you have made it home. If you’re available again, I would be very interested in seeing you again.”

            “I will let you know.” Regan backed away, now embarrassed. Francis headed to his waiting ride, waving before he sat inside the car. _But I think it’s time I retire from this for good._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to Salacious Shipping for allowing me to borrow Francis! You can find more information about their artwork here (https://goo.gl/1t59on) and their Patreon here (https://www.patreon.com/ssnsfw/posts).


	9. Bills to Pay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scaramouche can't fathom how Francis' bills are more important than making out after Scaramouche returned from his week long mission.

**Bills to Pay**

 

            “Francis, baby, I’m so bored,” he drew out the last word until the d became a low growl in his throat.

            “Mon Cher, I have to finish paying bills first.” Francis did not bother taking his eyes off the screen as Scaramouche pouted.

            “But you’ve been doing that for an hour, babe! Just put them on automatic payment.”

            “I like to see what I’m paying,” Francis replied absently. _Which one has the higher interest rate? I guess I’ll use the excess on that._ With another groan, Scaramouche flopped down onto the floor next to Francis’ chair. The silence only lasted another minute.

            “Can’t it wait an hour, babe?”

            “It should only be a few more minutes.” Francis caught the movement in the corner of his eye as the purple coat and scarf were tossed at his feet. The pleased hum gave away his actions.

            “Jealous, babe?” He did not give Scaramouche the satisfaction of answering, merely double checking interest rates and the total still left in his account. Scaramouche rolled back to his feet, straddling Francis’ lap before he had a chance to protest.

            “The more you keep pestering me, the longer it’s going to take, Mon Cher.”

            “But you’re making me wait so long, babe! I was gone for a week!”

            “You’ve been back for three days and we fucked for hours each day.”

            “But you’ve only cum in me once, babe. I haven’t even gotten to give you a blow job.” Francis finally spared him a glance and a smile.

            “You can tonight … _after_ I finish this.” Scaramouche’s face cracked into a while smile before it fell back into a pout after Francis stated his condition. _I don’t deserve this much from him._ He kept his face even, making the final payment with the earnings from his long weekend. Scaramouche went back to fingering himself, glaring intently at Francis.

            “Scaramouche,” Francis met his eyes.

            “Whaaaaaaattt, babe?” A smirk formed before Francis responded.

            “I’m done.”

            “Finally, baby!” Scaramouche was on his feet in an instance, grabbing the side of Francis’ hips. He hoisted him in the air, Francis having to duck to avoid his head being smashed into the ceiling as he legs were thrown over Scaramouche’s shoulders. Francis bit down the cry of shock as his back hit the wall harder than he expected. His hands searched for a bit of purchase, planting themselves just behind Scaramouche’s jaw.

            “This would have been easier on the couch, Mon Cher,” Francis chided, gasping as Scaramouche unbuttoned his pants enough to stroke his member with his fingertips.

            “You’re couch is too short for me, babe.” He kissed the tip of the attachment roughly, his tongue writhing against the opening. Francis’ purr of gratification was short lived as Scaramouche’s tongue glance off  his pleasure center, but did not linger long enough for a proper activation. _It’d be rude to say anything_ , Francis forced a shaky moan, crossing his ankles behind Scaramouche’s back. _Besides, I’m liable to cum anyway from any sort of attention._

            One arm had come away from balancing Francis against the wall, instead working back inside his port. With his head pressed firmly between Francis’ legs, Francis could feel the shuddering pleasure rocking through the taller one’s body. _And I’m not doing anything_.

            If Scaramouche noticed the longer than average time it took to coax a load from Francis, he did not say anything. He worked as long as he needed, throat vibrating against the attachment as he sang his own praise.

            “Mm, I missed that, babe,” he rested his long chin just above the junction of the attachment and the rest of his body, staring up with a dreamy expression. “Can I do it again?”

            “Mon Cher, why don’t you let me do something for you? You’re doing all of the work.”

            “I’ve already came twice, babe,” he smirked, bringing up the moistened fingers of his other hand to prove his point, “and want you to do the same.”

            “That was enough for me,” Francis insisted, brushing Scaramouche’s hand from his attachment and tracing the jaw with his thumbs. _More than I ever deserved_.

            The sudden drop wrung a shout from him. Scaramouche had released him, only to snag him out of the air by grabbing under each arm. A rough kiss was planted on his lips before he could even scold Scaramouche.

            “If you say so. I could do this all night with you, babe. I love the way you taste, and look, and feel.” He kissed him harder, until his head was pressed against the wall again. Francis felt the invading tongue glide across his own teeth, trying to find an opening. It was unrelenting.

            “Everything okay, babe? You’re kind of stiff … but not in the good way.”

            “Everything is fine.” _It’s just too much, too fast._

            “Glad to hear it, Francis, baby.” The return to the floor was much more controlled.

            “Let’s go to bed, Mon Cher. I’m tired.” _Tired of being this pathetic worm._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to Salacious Shipping for allowing me to borrow Francis! You can find more information about their artwork here (https://goo.gl/1t59on) and their Patreon here (https://www.patreon.com/ssnsfw/posts).


	10. Tavern

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Francis and Scaramouche spend the night at a tavern on the way to Scaramouche's next assignment and run into Scaramouche's old friend who is a bit too hands on for Francis' tastes.

**Tavern**

"It's not the nicest place, baby, but it has the longest beds," he passed on a lopsided grin. _I can't believe he's willing to sleep here._ Setting his bag down at the foot of the bed, he studied his surroundings. While it was nicer than any place he would have picked, Francis was surprised Scaramouche would settle for this. _He must have really despised the hotel room last night._ _He did look a little goofy with his legs hanging off the end._

"Shall we go down and eat? They've got good wine, babe." Francis nodded, letting Scaramouche link elbows with his. They walked to the floor below via the front staircase. A server bot was there to meet them at the last step, whisking them through the crowded dining area. A few tipped their heads towards Scaramouche, others hungrily stared at Francis, and he could not help but imagine that they were wondering if he would be their entertainment for the night. One lonely robot, made eye contact, sharp teeth appearing in a wicked grin as one hand disappeared beneath the table. His piercing green eyes nearly froze Francis in place. There was a tug at his arm, Scaramouche drawing him forward and out of his stupor.

"Your drinks will be out shortly." As briskly as he led them to the table, he rolled away.

"Wait! Can I sit there?" Francis posed too forcibly. He tried to hide his unease with a hopeful smile as Scaramouche froze, almost seated.

"Sure, babe." Scaramouche stood back up and settled down at the opposite chair. Francis did not spare a glance back, his seat placing his back to the majority of the tavern, especially the green eyed one.

"Are you feeling alright, Francis baby? Your eyes look ... Not right."

 "Oui, I'm fine." Another flash of the hopeful smile was enough to convince Scaramouche, and he returned a broader grin. Two glasses of wine were brought out. Both ordered their usual oil, and their server vanished with a quick bow. Scaramouche rambled about the rest of the trip and his mission. Francis would make an occasional affirmation that he was paying attention as his eyes roamed. The metal chandeliers were draped with obvious costume jewelry, but had gas lit candles. A similar candle adjourned each table. _I guess it’s not too shabby._

"Something's wrong, babe," his eyes wedging into a look of concern. He took Francis' right hand, squeezing it gently.

"I'm not used to eating out," he admitted quietly. _Not to mention all the stares. Surely he noticed it!_

 "Well we could call it a date if you prefer, babe." Francis never had a chance to answer as a hand grabbed his shoulder.

"Scaramouche! What a pleasure to see you in town!" Francis tried to shrug the hand off, loosening the death grip he had on his own dagger. The thumb dug harder into his arm. Scaramouche bounded up from his chair, and the stranger shook left hands.

"Mason! What a surprise, babe! I didn't even see you. Let me introduce you to my friend." Taking the opportunity, Francis shot up, firmly twisting out of the grip. He came face to chest with the green eyed robot from before.

"Francis," he managed to choke out as he glanced up, offering his right hand. "Nice to meet you."

"Come and join us, babe! There's plenty of room at our table."

"I'd hate to impose," but his eyes told a different story as he leered down his nose, Francis' hand enclosed uncomfortably tight. He agreed readily once Scaramouche extended the invitation again.

"I'll take you on a real date soon, Francis, baby," Scaramouche promised as Mason retrieved his belongings from a few tables away. Forcing himself to insist that was fine, he slid a bit closer to the wall as Mason joined them.

"So what brings you two to town?" Mason and Scaramouche dominated the conversation. Still, Francis could feel the lingering glances in his direction even though he was hardly addressed. Halfway through his bowl, he felt a hand on his knee. _Perhaps he just doesn't realize it._ Lying to himself, he quietly shuffled his feet. The hint went unneeded. He did not want to make a scene, so he uttered not a word as he pushed the hand off. The presence returned a few moments later. _Maybe it's just Scaramouche,_ he prayed hopelessly. Yet, Scaramouche was telling a tale Francis had heard a dozen times, and it required both hands to make use of grand expressions.

The hand had crept up to his thigh, kneading the pants. Pushing at it again did not yield the same results.

Francis leaned against the wall, legs pressed as close as he could get. It only provided a few centimeters of space, and Francis saw how much closer Mason had sat to him. Inching up along his leg, the fingers explored more, prodding the inside of his thigh. Grabbing the wrist, he pried the hand away. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw amusement cross Mason's face, undoubtedly aimed at him. Easily breaking away from Francis, Mason grabbed the thumb, twisting sharply.

The screams bubbled into his throat, but only a small squeak escaped him, swallowed up by the noise of the tavern. _It's not disconnected, but it's going to hurt to get it back._ Mason was forcing his way in between Francis' legs, as pain shot up Francis’ arm. Fingers began stroking his attachment through his pants.

"Scaramouche," his voice barely cut over the crowd. The robot's eyes went wide the moment he stopped talking.

"Babe! What's wrong? You look terrible!"

"I think I need to rest for a bit. A pleasure to meet you, Mason. I'm sorry I have to cut this visit short." Scaramouche grabbed the room key from his pocket.

 "Let me walk you up," Mason offered, arm around Francis' shoulder the instant he was on his feet.

"Thank you, but I don't want to interrupt. Goodnight." He shoved past Mason, cradling his left hand against his stomach once he had his back to Scaramouche, and thankful that Scaramouche insisted Francis just needed time to himself. Oil leaked down the corners of his mouth as he nearly ran through the tavern and up the stairs. The key missed the lock and clattered to the floor on the first attempt. His head snapped to the hallway, but it was empty. He let himself in on the second attempt, slamming the door behind him, and double locking the door.

With only another second to steel his nerves, he snapped his thumb back into place with a cry of pain. He threw up on the floor, dropping to his knees. The occupant in the adjacent room told him to shut up, but the worst was over. He spat the rest onto the floor, finding a cloth to wipe up the mess once he tested to make sure his thumb was still functional. He curled up on the bed, wrapping the sheets around him tightly. Another hour passed before there was a knock at the door.

"Are you in there, babe?" The door knob rattled. Francis sent a quick text, asking if Scaramouche was alone. He received a simple _yes_. Untangling his limbs, he bounded across the small room and threw off the locks. He nearly dragged Scaramouche inside. The door was slammed shut and locked before Scaramouche could inquire about Francis' behavior. Setting the bottle of wine and glasses on the table, he opened his arms. Francis threw himself into the embrace.

"Was Mason bothering you, babe? He was acting really weird once you left. Kept asking if he could go up and check on you, but I told him you had the key and would call if something was wrong. It was so strange, babe." _My Savior!_

"I'm just tired, Mon Cher." He clung to him awhile longer until a knock at the door startled Francis.  Drawing back several steps, he scanned the locks to make sure they were secure.

"Go to bed, babe. I’ll talk to him,” Scaramouche murmured in an uncharacteristically quiet voice. Francis dove under the covers, pretending to recharge. Unlocking the doorknob, but leaving the chain in place, Scaramouche cracked the door open.

“Is Francis alright?”

“He’s resting, babe. I’m headed to bed myself.”

“Do you all need anything? I can bring it in if you’d like.”

“We’re fine. Thanks, babe. Goodnight!” Francis relaxed when he heard the latch click shut again, and the door relocked.

“Like I was saying, babe, really strange. I think he said he just went through a divorce not too long ago. Maybe that’s it. He’s really not a bad guy, babe.” There was another knock, but Scaramouche ignored it, pouring each of them another glass of wine.

“Cheers, babe.” Francis sat up, sliding to the foot of the bed so Scaramouche would have a place to sit. They clinked glasses.

“Do you want me to stay up and keep a watch? You’re looking really bad, babe.”

“Would you, Mon Cher?”

“Mm-hm,” Scaramouche pecked him on the forehead. “On one condition: you tell me if Mason was bothering you during dinner, babe. I’d like to have a _word_ with him if he was.”

“He just kept resting hand on my leg. I think I’m just too wound up from traveling and overreacted.”

“Did he hurt you, babe?”

“No.” Francis could feel the eyes studying him as he drained his glass carefully. “Really, I just needed a little space to myself. I’m used to the open forests and smaller cities. Don’t bother him.”

“Alright. Do you want me to go book another room or get a cot? I had thought you might like to burn off a little energy from riding all day, but I guess I didn’t think it through, babe.” A smirk flashed across his face, but fell away even as Francis agreed to a quick round of sex.

“Are you sure, babe? I mean, I’m always up for that, but you look terrible.” _Asshole_ , Francis scolded himself. _Just say what he wants. I don’t need to offer him anything for watching out for me._

“You’re right. Perhaps in the morning, we can do burn off some steam before we depart. I would like to sleep. But, with you… here. Don’t get another room.”

“I’m sorry about all this traveling, babe. I didn’t know it’d be so hard on your system.”

“It’s fine, Mon Cher. I’d rather be with you.” _Than with Regan_. Scaramouche took their glasses as Francis wrapped himself in the sheet. When he returned, Scaramouche slid next to him, pulling Francis on top of him and wrapping his legs and arms around him protectively.

Closing his eyes, Francis nuzzled into Scaramouche’s chest.

“Sleep well, babe.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to Salacious Shipping for allowing me to borrow Francis! You can find more information about their artwork here (https://goo.gl/1t59on) and their Patreon here (https://www.patreon.com/ssnsfw/posts).


	11. Trigger Word

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Francis overhears his trigger word and cannot fight the effects.

**Trigger Word**

 

            It was carelessly thrown out, something in their conversation. Francis had been following along as the two French merchants chatted amongst themselves in the crowded bar. They were discussing some of the bounties and a drug trade. It must have been there code word, and Francis could guess what it was for, but it did not mean he was as immune as he used to be.

            _“Mon petit cocquelicot_ sur les quais de demain.” Gripping Scaramouche’s hand tighter, he tried to warn him or beg for help. _Please … No, it’s okay! I can fight this. It’s been long enough,_ he told himself in vain as the floor rose to meet him.

~/~

            _No more. Please, no more._ Francis could not see. Hands were on him, and voices were yelling. _Please, don’t yell at me anymore_.

            _A question? What do you want? Yes? Yes, of course. I’ll be good._  He nodded. Another question followed, so he nodded again, affirming every question until the voice stopped asking. There was a sigh of frustration and Francis shuddered in anticipation of answering wrong.

            _Don’t hurt me again._ Pulled to his feet, Francis felt himself slumping against whatever support was next to him. It held him up, tugging at him.

            “Come on, babe.”

            _A command. Obey._ Vision was starting to return and he stopped staggering so wildly as the figure led him to somewhere more quiet. They stopped walking. A whimper escaped as his chin was cupped and tilted upwards.

            “My head hurts,” he whined, already recoiling from the hit he knew would come. _He’s finding the weakest spot to hit_. The thumb traced over his cheek again.

            “You hit your head pretty hard, babe. What happened?” Francis nodded in response. He nodded several times until he tilted his head to the side. Blinking a few times, Scaramouche finally came back into focus.

            “Home?” his beg was a whisper.

            “Yeah, babe. We’ll go home. Are you okay?”

            “Yes? I … I think so? No? No, I don’t feel well at all.” _Can’t think. It hurts. Scaramouche, make it stop!_ His knees gave out again, and he collapsed against Scaramouche. The taller assassin sat on the ground, pulling Francis into his lap.

            “Francis, baby, what’s going on? You were zoned out for like … five minutes, babe. You just fainted in the middle of the tavern.”

            “I have a … a trigger word. I overheard it.”

            “Why the fuck do you have a trigger word, babe? You’re a bounty hunter! Hate to break it to you, but your creator was a real, fucking idiot.” Francis looked up, the blue eyes dull and flickering.

            “I’m sorry,” he sobbed. “I’m sorry.” _It’s all my fault._

            “No, no, no, no, babe!” Scaramouche pulled him tight, keeping his head against his chest. “You’re not an idiot. It’s not your fault!”

            “ _Je suis un bot de sexe!”_ Francis screamed in French into Scaramouche's coat. He shrieked it again, shaking as he cried, oil leaking from his mouth.

            “Shh, babe. I don’t know what you’re saying, but it’s okay! It’s okay. I’ve got you, Francis, baby. I’m going to take you home, okay?” Francis nodded, letting Scaramouche dab at his mouth. Not bothering to let his companion walk, he hugged Francis against him as he carried him back to Francis’ vehicle before driving them home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to Salacious Shipping for allowing me to borrow Francis! You can find more information about their artwork here (https://goo.gl/1t59on) and their Patreon here (https://www.patreon.com/ssnsfw/posts).


	12. Two Months Too Long, Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scaramouche is away on a two month assignment. Francis decides to kill the time by spending it with Regan to help pad his bank account.

Two Months Too Long, Part 1

 

Day 1:

            Regan had insisted that they eat, bringing Francis in straight to the kitchen table. _He probably knows that I don’t eat before I arrive. I wonder if I can still hide the fact I won’t be sleeping at night?_ _At least with a contract, he can’t send me home unless I’m not performing well_.

            “How have you been, Francis?”

“Very well, thank you.” _Wishing I were already home, even if it is an empty house for the next two months_. Francis kept up the small talk as Regan stirred the oil over the low heat.

“I had a bite on the train, so I don’t need too much,” Francis lied. Regan hesitated a moment, but still placed the full bowl in front of him.

“You can eat what you would like. If you ever want more or need something …”

“I will ask,” Francis supplied his empty promise. After only a few mouthfuls, he found himself absently swirling the spoon around the bowl. Regan, famished from his work, paid him no attention until his own bowl was spotless.

 _I should be thankful he’s so wasteful,_ Francis scolded himself once his bowl was taken. _Why else would he hire me at such a high rate?_ He recognized the grip of jealously as the uneaten oil was disposed of, his bowl placed in the dishwasher, and wine he would never be able to buy for himself was poured.

Regan started the night respectfully sitting next to him, but by his second glass, Francis had pulled him into his lap. Fingers teased his attachment through his work clothes. It only took a few minutes before Regan let out a whimper, shifting his weight awkwardly as he grinded down on Francis’ leg.

“Did you miss this, Monsieur?” Regan let out a weak affirmative as Francis set his glass down on the nearby table. Deft fingers undid his pants and released his twitching member. Francis trailed his fingers slowly up and down each side, feeling Regan shiver with each stroke.

Wrapping his fingers around the attachment tighter, he massaged the pleasure centers. Regan’s back arched into him as he tried not to thrust into the hand. One hand abandoned Regan’s member, instead working the buttons on Regan’s suit open. _No sense in messing up his clothing._ He moved the fabric out of the way before he returned his full attention to his job. Regan bucked hard as the thumbs worked the head of his attachment, the artificial fluids spraying onto his bare chest.

“I don’t remember you asking to cum,” Francis reminded him, letting his hands trail idly to his hips.

“I’m sorry, Mistress. I was more wound up from work and –”

“And I definitely don’t remember asking for an excuse.” Regan snapped his mouth closed, tensing as Francis ran two fingers along the underside of the attachment.

“I suppose I could forgive you, Monsieur. I’m in a good mood. Go upstairs and finish getting undressed.” Regan nearly stumbled as he bolted for the stairs, trying to please Francis.

_Two months. I can do this._

 

Day 2:

            _I cheated you yesterday, Regan. I know I should have kept your interests in mind._ Metal fingers grazed along Regan’s chest as Francis finally lowered himself onto the attachment, awarded by a pleased sigh below him. A shudder of disgust shot through his body. Sinking to the hilt, Francis forced a smile as he rolled his hips forward.

            “I hope you’ll remember to ask first, Monsieur. I’m not feeling so generous today,” Francis smirked, grinding down harder.

            “I won’t forget, Mistress!” Regan insisted, fingers curling into the sheets as Francis began bouncing on his hips. _I’m sorry I’m so mean to you. You’ve been nothing but kind to me, but I don’t really know what you want._ Yet, Francis suspected he was on the right path. Regan’s compressors worked loudly as a smile crossed his face.

            _I swear, I’ll figure this out before the two months are up._

Day 5:

            Running the brush through his hair a few more times, Francis frowned at his reflection. His eyes were dull from another sleepless night. From the time Regan was finished with him to the time he woke up, he had starred at the wall on the far side of the room. It was his usual ritual.

            _At least I don’t look as bad as I did Monday morning. All weekend with only a couple hours of sleep was rough, and Regan pointed it out already._ _At least I can rest as soon as he leaves for work._ Smoothing down the collar of his shirt, he headed down to the kitchen.

            “Perfect timing!” Regan beamed, dishing out equal bowls. “There’s meeting first thing today, so please excuse me if I eat a little faster than normal.” Francis nodded understandingly. As stated, Regan scarfed down his meal. Francis, on the other hand, worked steadily, the nausea from the rich oil still present but not as severe as the first few days. Regan was pleased with how much he consumed.

            “I apologize again, but I need to be on my way. Just leave your bowl in the sink –”

            “I’ll clean up from breakfast,” Francis cut him off.

            “But … that’s outside of your job description. You certainly don’t need—”

            “I don’t mind. Let me walk you to the door.” _The faster you leave, the longer I can sleep._ Regan uncertainly abandoned his attempts to clean up his utensils, allowing Francis to hook an arm over his shoulders and guide him to the front door. The whole way, he questioned Francis to make sure he would not be bored during his absence. Several reminders were made that Regan would reimburse him for a taxi if he wanted to go into town.

            “Have a good day, Monsieur.” He pushed the briefcase into Regan’s hands. _And I suppose I can concede a little extra, especially with what you pay me._ Francis leaned forward, tenderly pulling Regan’s head closer once his hands were free. They met lips for a long minute before Regan murmured an apology about having to leave again. Francis nearly chuckled at how tightly he was clutching his case as he left.

            Forcing down another few spoonfuls, Francis wrapped his remaining oil, unable to force himself to throw it away. He rinsed Regan’s bowl and placed it in the dishwasher.

            Strolling back into the living room, he stripped off his shirt and settled on the couch. The alarm was set on his phone, set to wake him an hour before Regan returned. Feet dangled carefully off the couch, lest he mess up the furniture. He powered down in no time.

Day 7:

            Suddenly awoken, he thrashed wildly. The hand on his shoulder was the first to be smacked away, the body behind him pushed back. He was on his feet, reaching for his dagger that was _thankfully_ not on his belt.

            “Regan!” _Fuck, no!_ “Regan! I’m – I’m sorry! You startled me.” Regan’s eyes had gone wide and he stood stiffly where Francis had forced him back. The flinch when Francis reached out to him made Francis wince.

            “I’m sorry,” Francis murmured, backing away. He opened his arms invitingly, as if he could be some sort of comfort. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.” Francis stepped forward again, Regan perfectly still. Embracing him, Francis cradled his head against his own, holding him tightly. He waited for some sort of reciprocation. Once Regan halfheartedly wrapped his shaking arms around him, Francis pulled him back towards the couch, situating him in his lap.

            “Regan, I’m sorry!”

            “I-it’s okay. You also startled me.” Regan leaned against him, letting Francis stroke his head and plant small kisses on his cheek. “You’re normally so gentle, and I appreciate that.” The tension was leaving him.

            “But this isn’t like you. Are you not feeling well? You’re usually very active and alert when I arrive home.” Regan leaned back so he could examine Francis’ expression. “Are the sessions too much on your system?”

            “I was just tired. I did not recharge as long as I wanted last night.”

            “I don’t mean to pry, but it looked like you had gotten sick in the sink last night.” _Shit! The only time I had gotten sick this week, and I was too careless to hide the evidence._ The vile oil rose in his throat. _There’s no excuse I can give. I can’t tell him it was a rough session, can’t tell him what he’s feeding me is too rich._

            Instead, he said nothing, finally hanging his head to break away from the gaze.

Day 8:

            “Well, aren’t you a little bundle of stress!” Sandra exclaimed. The electrical pulses at his shoulders was supposed to be soothing, yet Francis felt oddly exposed. He had opted to keep his pants on. The shirt had come off begrudgingly, and if he was not forced to keep his head in a certain position, he knew he would be staring at his clothing longingly. _Or the clock if she had one in here. This hour could not go by more slowly_. He had tried taking his time, analyzing each button as he worked them through the holes slowly. It had taken three times as long as usual to tie his hair back in a simple ponytail.

            “Unclench your fists. I swear on my motherboard and every certification in the country that I’m not going to hurt you.” Francis complied, although his shoulders jerked up involuntarily at the slightest stimulation. She worked his upper back and shoulders for fifteen minutes before sighing.

            “If you’re really dying for it, we can just skip to the end, since this is clearly not working for you.” _Thank Aku!_

            “How do you want it?”

            “I thought we were done?” Francis pushed himself up, tired of his vision being limited to a small plot of floor.

            “Regan’s paid for the whole shebang.” When Francis only frowned, she added, “You know, the happy ending and all that jive?”

            “No.” Her purple eyebrows shot up in surprise.

            “Oh … okay. I can see if someone else is free if you’d prefer—”

“I’m not interested.”

“Well, you’re still got a little over a half hour left. Is there something else I can do for you?”

            “I’d like to cancel. Will Regan be able to get a refund for half of the session?”

            “Yeah, he can. Probably a full refund since you’re worse off than when I started, but you and I both know he won’t accept it. He’s probably going to look for someone else for you. He’s pretty particular about how he treats his service workers. Is this your first time here?”

            “I don’t discuss client information,” he narrowed his eyes, challenging her to press on for more information.

            “Oh, man, it’s nice to see that some still maintain that confidentiality. His other hirees are all blabbermouths. I’ve heard more than my fair share. I meant for you though. Is this your first time getting a massage? Well, I guess I should say just being in the building since I haven’t actually gotten started.”

            “Oui,” Francis nodded.

            “I figured. You’re pretty jumpy for a client of Regan’s. I’ve been told he’s pretty gentle. Don’t worry, you don’t have to confirm or deny anything. I’m just stating rumors. Although,” she drew out the word, finally pulling out a stool and perching on it, “You’re not quite like the other ones he hires. A little more on the … less expensive side, but he must really like you. He was very adamant that I get you in today. Probably cause you’ve gotten sick a few times in the last forty-eight hours, huh?”

            _He couldn’t have known about the other two times! I was careful after he saw the remnants the first time._

            “I guess he only said once,” Sandra amended. “But I can tell it’s been at least twice, maybe three times. Which, you know, is not exactly normal. I could understand after a bad session. I’ve been there, done that. Doesn’t look like you’ve rested in over a day either.”

            “Oh, don’t look so surprised! I’ve been doing this for ten years. I can tell a lot of things with just a few clues. No need to be embarrassed.” She smiled warmly.

            “You won’t tell Regan, will you?”

            “’Course not. I believe in client confidentiality, too. Won’t ever mention a name unless they’ve given me permission and never incriminating details.” Francis relaxed a bit.

            “So, what do you want to do? Sit and chat? Leave? You can always tell Regan you weren’t satisfied and we’ll give him a refund.”

            “You’re right,” Francis sighed, “He won’t accept it. I’ll just tell him not to book any future ones.”

            “Well,” Sandra gave a lopsided smile, “You actually mean cancel.” Closing his eyes, Francis could not help shaking his head. _Regan, you do far too much for me_.

 

Day 11:

            “Look at you!” Francis smirked, stroking the smooth metal dome. “Anyone could walk in and see you at the feet of a _sex bot_.” Regan starred up at him, shame and lust vibrant in his eyes, his compressors whirling loudly. They had not even started, yet Regan’s member twitched in anticipation.

            “How shameful, Regan,” he drawled out the name. Yesterday, he had slipped up, speaking Regan’s name rather than his usual address. It had proved to be one of his greatest mistakes. Regan had evidently liked being addressed by his name more than Francis could ever imagine, barely able to contain his arousal, gasping wildly as he clawed at the sheets. Even now, Regan’s eyes flashed happily.

            “Anything for you, Mistress. I only want to please you.”

            “Good. Come closer.” Francis himself backed up a few steps, perching on the foot of the bed. Crawling on only his knees, his hands having been bound behind his back, Regan positioned himself in between Francis’ legs. Seeing the fleeing glances towards his attachment, Francis made sure to rest a hand on Regan’s head to keep it away. _Can’t have him pleasuring me. That’s not how this is supposed to work._

            “I don’t know if you’re worthy of more than my feet tonight,” Francis teased, drawing a toe down Regan’s attachment. A shaking purr came from Regan as the motion was repeated several times. As Francis had anticipated, Regan was trying to nuzzle forwards, settling for what little slack Francis provided. Francis worked Regan’s attachment with both feet. Albeit clumsier than if he had used his hands, Regan was moaning in delight after a few minutes.

            There was a sharp halt to Regan’s moan as Francis removed the stimulation. His jaw trembled as he refused to ask for Francis to continue, instead leaning into Francis hand, still firm on his head.

            “I’ve changed my mind. I think I’ll ride you.” Standing up, he kept Regan at bay with one hand as he slid the silk underwear off, yet another unsolicited gift. Once he knelt, he allowed Regan to lean forward and kiss his chest. Francis hovered right at the tip, swirling his hips slowly. _His discipline is quite remarkable. I doubt one of my old clients would have the ability to sit so still with their own pleasure so tantalizingly close._

            Francis teased him a long while, hardly lowering .himself more than an inch at a time. After Francis bored of the same small motions, he rewarded Regan with two hard orgasms, not even bothering to readjust after Regan filled him the first time.

            He considered letting Regan come a third time, but after he felt around the compressors at Regan’s hips, he decided to call it a night. As usual, he excused himself to clean the fluid from his port once he untied Regan’s hands. Regan thanked him again once he returned, and went to get ready for bed. Francis waited on his side for Regan to return.

            Regan slid under the covers, surprised as Francis rolled towards him.

            “I thought you might enjoy sleeping in my arms,” Francis finally stated. _Truly, I’m terrified that I don’t have enough in my repertoire to keep you happy for the full two months._

            “I would,” Regan admitted quietly, “However, you do not have to work for me all night. You should be comfortable.”

            “It does not matter to me one way or the other.” _Just so long as you are content with my services._ Regan edged forward uncertainly, resting on Francis’ outstretched arm. He was pulled into a loose embrace, similarly wrapping his arms around Francis. The quiet whirl of compressors increased in volume for a few minutes before it finally died down into near silence.

 

Day 14:

The ringing doorbell was starting to become annoying. It went ignored for the first five minutes, but the constant sound grated his last nerve. Regan had confirmed that he was neither expecting company while he was gone nor a delivery until the following day. First dashing upstairs to tuck his dagger onto his belt, Francis went to investigate.

            “May I –” His nasty greeting was interrupted with a slap to the face. Francis raised an eyebrow, almost amused at how much effort the robot before him had to put into the weak blow.

            “Who the fuck do you think you are, trying to steal my client? I’ve been working for Regan for months, and suddenly, he doesn’t want to hire me for two months?”

            “Would you kindly leave before I call the police?”

            “You think you scare me, you cheap fuck boy? You’re not worth a single dollar he pays you,” the robot sneered, jabbing a finger into Francis’ chest _. I’m well aware of that._

            “Regan’s not here at the moment, but you can discuss it with him when he returns.” Taking a step back in order to close the door set off the angered robot.

            “Don’t think you can just shut the door on me, fucking piece of scrap. You owe me for all the time I’m losing. I’ll take the first payment in my own pleasure!” The lunge forward was met with a kick to the chest from Francis.

            From his new seat on the ground, the robot looked up, eyes widened to the extremes from the shock. He acted as if no one had ever challenged him before.

            “I’ll give you one more chance to leave peacefully. If not, I’ll have your head severed from your pathetic body and mounted in the bedroom to watch me earn every dollar you could have made if Regan liked you better.” _Perhaps that’s a little overkill_ , Francis mused, watching the robot begin to tremble.

            “I-I’m sorry. I-I-I was j-just upset.”

            “Apology accepted. Leave, and don’t bother me again. You can discuss terms of your work with Regan directly.” Francis slammed the door with a smirk before returning to his nap on the couch.

 

Day 17:

            “I’m so sorry I’m late, Mistress.” He had barely made it in the door before he threw himself at Francis’ feet. The briefcase and parcels he was carrying followed in suit. Francis knew he was supposed to respond faster, but the demeanor threw him.

            “Get up and eat, Regan. You’re no use to me like this.” A wince crossed his face at the harsh tone, but Regan was nuzzling into his thigh, and did not notice.

            “I warmed up your dinner to speed things up,” Francis continued, offering a hand despite his unforgiving tone. “I already ate, as I got tired of waiting on you.” Before he took the hand, Regan scanned the floor, picking up one of the boxes. Hugging the box to his chest, he let Francis wrap an arm around his shoulders and hurry him into the kitchen.

            “Oh, Mistress, you’re so good to me!” It was a modest set up, but, as Francis had hoped, it was appealing enough after being away for five days. He had set the table nicer than what he would have when he ate alone and opened a bottle of wine, leaving a glass out for each of them. A pang of guilt hit him when he poured himself a glass, but he reminded himself Regan had said he had access to anything in the house.

            Regan collapsed in the chair, eating mechanically. Francis took the seat opposite him as he sipped his wine. _Poor thing. He looks so exhausted._

            “Oh,” Regan cast a glance at the package again as if he forgot about it. “I got this for you.” He handed it over, before he resumed eating motions.

            “Thank you,” Francis accepted it less hesitantly than before. Regan had sent him two packages while he was out of the house: another night shirt and a book. Although confused as to why he would spend extra money on him, Francis just accepted them. This gift was no different.

            _At least he gets to enjoy this one as well_ , Francis mused as he made sure to admire the garments. _Although, I can’t say I’m fond of all this leather._

            “I’ll have to put this on when we go upstairs,” Francis smirked. All he received was an absent nod. _It must have been a rough week_. Leaning back in his chair, Francis wheedled his foot between Regan’s legs. At first, Regan glanced up, head tilted in confusion. Finally relenting, he spread his knees apart, allowing Francis to tease the attachment through the garments. It was not long before Regan tried to rut against his foot as he forced down food as fast as he could.

            “Please, Mistress, may I come?” He spit out the request between bites, the words nearly running together in his haste.

            “A bit early, don’t you think?” Francis taunted. _Way too early for him. He should hardly be ready, especially since I’m not even working the pleasure centers_.

            “Please, it’s been so long,” Regan let out a whimper. “I was so busy I couldn’t hire anyone else.” _I’m terrible at this role_.

            “Not like that, you can’t,” Francis stood up, swinging his foot back to the floor. It took more willpower than he was expecting to refuse to apologize as Regan’s shoulders sank in sadness.

            “Face me, Regan. You can finish eating later.” Doing as he was told, Regan abandoned his meal, turning his body towards Francis, who dropped to his knees. Francis tugged the business clothes open, taking the erect attachment into his mouth. Bobbing his head a few times, he gave the permission Regan so clearly desired.

            Regan came hard after a few minutes, filling Francis’ mouth. The thanks he gave were quieter than usual.

            “Have you eaten enough?” Rising back to his feet, he pulled Regan up after he nodded.

            “I should –”

            “You should be heading up to the bedroom to ask what you can do for me,” Francis reminded him, pulling him away from the table. _My new outfit will have to wait. I don’t know how much longer he’ll be awake for._

            “You’re right, I’m sorry. I’m not behaving very well tonight.” Francis gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze as he led him up to the bedroom.

            “Strip down, Regan.” Shrugging off his own clothes into a pile near his feet, he leaned forward over the foot of the bed, spreading his legs.

            “What are you waiting for? A hand written invitation? Fuck me, Regan.”

            “Of course, Mistress!” It took a few moments as Regan tested a few places to hold on Francis hips. Ever so gently, he slid inside.

            Pushing back into every thrust, Francis had no trouble matching the slow rhythm. The urgency had left Regan’s voice and he remained quiet save for his soft compliments.

            “I missed you, Mistress,” he whispered, caressing Francis’ sides.

            “Then show me how much you missed me.” Forcing his hips back hard, he ground himself into Regan. _Best to finish him up quickly for the night. I’m a little out of it myself. I didn’t know I’d have such long breaks when he went away._ “Harder, Regan.”

            “I … I won’t hurt you?”

            “You will not hurt me. Get it all out of your system. You left me for days, and now you can make it up to me.” Francis was almost amused at the barely noticeable change in pace. Knowing he could have demanded more, he went along with it, letting out a fake hum of approval as he felt necessary.

            “Finish inside of me,” he anticipated the question soon to be asked. Regan confirmed, fingers tightening involuntarily as he grew closer. Rocking back into him at a faster pace, Francis pushed Regan to his peak.

            A disgusted shudder shot through his body. Regan pumped inside a few more times, his hands now splayed on Francis’ lower back as he kept himself from pitching forward.

            “Go to sleep, Regan. You need to rest. You can make it up to me tomorrow.” Once Regan had pulled out, Francis excused himself first to clean himself out. He knew Regan would power down soon when he did not offer to assist like he usually did.

            “Lie down,” Francis encouraged in a softer tone once he returned.

            “But … the dishes.” The dull eyes were already half closed as his head lazily followed Francis’ trek back to the bed.

            “I will take care of them. Get ready for bed, and I’ll be back in a few minutes.” Francis made sure Regan started getting ready to sleep before he hurried down the stairs. Loading the dishwasher, he took his time returning back to the bedroom.

            _I guess it wasn’t long enough,_ he sighed, forcing a warm smile as he a pulled on the new sleep shirt Regan had got for him the week before. Sliding in next to Regan, he pulled his employer against him, stroking his head.

            “Was I too rough?” The slurred question still had a hint of dread.

            “No, not at all.”

            “I’m sorry about today, Francis … Mistress …I was … You’re a bit … different.” _Cheap, pathetic, failing to meet your expectations? I know. You should go back to your usuals. At least they want to be here._

            “You’re so kind,” the eyes were disappearing quickly under the mechanical lids. “So good … to me.”

 

Day 22:

            The commands were gentle. Still, Francis upheld his commitment to the job, not letting Regan have to make a single decision the entire night. From the moment he shuffled in the door, Francis dictated his every move. Francis had made dinner again. He had watched Regan steadily grow more exhausted as the week went on, acting increasingly unsure of himself when they started the sessions each night. So he took it upon himself to make sure Regan was able to get into bed early.

            “I really appreciate all the extra things you do, Francis,” Regan murmured as he finally settled into Francis’ arms for the night. “Should I increase your daily pay? You always seem to be doing more than what we discussed in your contract.”

            “It’s no trouble at all,” Francis smiled, stroking Regan’s cheek with his fingertips. _Besides, I feel like I’m robbing you blind with what you pay me already. Not to mention the other gifts that are completely unnecessary._

            “Thank you. It’s been a long week. I might actually have to go in this weekend to make sure the deal closes to the satisfaction of both parties. I would like to tie up all the loose ends before I leave for the week on Monday. It seems like my client thinks he should be receiving more – Oh, I’m sorry! I really should not bore you with business matters.”

            “You’re not bothering me.” Regan smiled, his eyes starting to slip closed.

            “It’s just … on weeks like these, it’s hard to force myself to keep the business running. I started out as nothing more than a personal assistant. Eventually, I was … promoted, for lack of a better word, to secretary and bookkeeper. Before I knew it, I was the vice president, going out and representing the company on most trades. It was not so bad when I had someone to answer to.”

            “I am not very fond of having to run the company myself. It … does not suit the way I was originally programmed or function. There’s hardly a moment in the day I get to myself and something always needs to be decided.” _And I’m your relief. It makes sense_. Yet, Francis could not help but pity him. He doubted he would have the ability to run a company as well. _I would run it into the ground. That’s the only thing I know how to do._

 

Day 26:

            “I miss you.” Francis’ lips trembled as he heard the sigh on the other end of the line.

            “Francis, baby, you know I can’t come home for another month, at least. It might actually be longer than we first thought.” He heard the regret, but it did not soothe him.

            “I know. I just … wish you were here. I wish we could go bounty hunting together again.” _Tell him._

            “Me too, babe. Are you having any luck?”

            “I’m … not bounty hunting. I took another job until you get back.”

            “Ah, I see, babe. So you must really miss it, huh?”

            “Is it okay with you?”

            “That you took another job, babe?” There was a note of confusion in his voice. “Of course! I told you that you can take any job you want, babe. Remember?”

            “Even the ones I was originally built for?”

            “But … you just said you weren’t bounty hunting, babe?” _I need to spell it out for him._

            “That wasn’t my original purpose. I’m …” _TELL HIM!_ “A self-taught bounty hunter.” Francis bit his knuckle to hold in the cry of anguish that was bubbling in his throat along with the vile oil.

            “You’re not too shabby for being self-taught. Listen, babe, I know you’re upset, but I have to go. My supervisor’s waiting and they don’t look happy. I love you, babe!” Francis muttered a weak “bye” before dropping his phone. Both hands were pressed to his mouth as he stumbled to the nearest sink. Spitting out the foul liquid, he slid to the floor and sobbed.

 

Day 28:

            “Are you alright, babe? I know you were really upset the other day.”

            “I’m sorry, Mon Cher. I just … missed having you here. I don’t know what got into me. I’m alright now.” _Boredom most likely. I don’t want to bounty hunt, because I could get too disfigured to work. There’s no sense in going to town, as it would just be a waste of Regan’s money._

            “Any chance you’re free right now, babe? I’ve got a couple hours off this evening, and I know just the way I want to spend them.”

            “Oui, I am free. What do you have in mind?” Yet, Francis’ spirits sank. He knew exactly what Scaramouche wanted and that he would not be able to participate as Scaramouche expected. _Another secret I’ll keep from him, but what’s the harm of adding another at this point?_

            “Aren’t you a little warm? A little toasty in all those clothes, babe?”

            “I’m already unbuttoning my shirt, Mon Cher. Why don’t you loosen up your belt?” There was a rustle of material on the other end of the line, and Francis waited patiently.

            “Now I’m the one wishing you were here, babe.” The sentence ended with a fluttering sigh.

            “It’s good to know I’m better than your fingers,” Francis chided, pressing his knees together to keep his hands off himself. “But if I were there, I’d kiss my way down your long throat, stopping at every joint. Halfway down your chest, I’d stop so I could press a single finger into you.” Francis waited a few seconds to see if Scaramouche wanted to add something, but he could already hear the airy gasps.

            “I would slide a second finger inside if you, Mon Cher, ever so gently, until you started squirming and thrusting into them. Imagine them curling inside of you, hitting the bundle of circuits right inside the rim. After your fluids start leaking all down my hand, I would plant one last kiss on your chest before rolling to my knees.” The short moans were coming quicker on Scaramouche’s end.

            “D-don’t stop, Francis, baby!” _I suppose it’s a good thing he’s not good at phone sex,_ Francis nearly chuckled. Instead, he faked a moan, purring Scaramouche’s name before resuming his end of the story.

            “My attachment would glide over your slick port a couple times as I teased the outer rim. Just when you thought you can’t take it anymore, I’ll slide all the way into you. I’ll give you a few seconds to adjust, my attachment filling your port. Then, I’ll rock back out at a tantalizingly slow pace, making sure all your pleasure centers are activated.”

            “F-Francis! Fuck me, babe!”

            “Thrust your fingers in yourself faster, Mon Cher. You’re all ready for me to pound inside of you. Imagine it’s my attachment fucking you. Scaramouche, I’m getting close!” He followed up the lie with fake moans of delight, although he doubted Scaramouche could hear him over his own exclamations. The noise reached a peak, and died out for a while. Francis talked him through another orgasm, keeping his own hands crossed on his chest the whole time.

            “We’ll do this for real in a month, babe.”

            “Mon Cher, you don’t know badly I want the month to be over.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to Salacious Shipping for allowing me to borrow Francis! You can find more information about their artwork here (https://goo.gl/1t59on) and their Patreon here (https://www.patreon.com/ssnsfw/posts).


	13. Two Months Too Long, Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Second half of Francis' two month stay with Regan.

**Two Months Too Long, Part 2**

Day 32:

“Did I say you could cum?” Francis dropped down to the hilt, already feeling the fluids draining by the force of gravity.

            “I’m sorry, Mistress! I thought it would be okay since you let me before—”

            “I don’t recall myself saying you could come a second time. Do you, Regan?”

            “No, Mistress,” he whispered.

            “And I had just finished cleaning myself out,” Francis continued, leaning forward threateningly. He kept his glare trained on Regan’s face as he traced the hips, finding the spot he was looking for. _As I expected: He just came, but he’s already getting excited again._ Waiting in silence, the glare unwavering, there was a feeble thrust up into him.

            “Here you are, trying to spill into me again!” Francis complained, raising himself off the member and leaving himself exposed so that he could keep the remaining liquid inside of him. “You’ve cum twice. That’s enough. Clean this mess out so I can go to sleep,” Francis demanded, nodding towards the cloth he kept on the bedside table.

            Not sure if Regan missed the hint or outright ignored it, Francis tensed as Regan flipped himself over and threw himself between Francis’ legs. His tongue lapped at the port before Francis could stop him. Unable to find the words, Francis stared on helplessly as Regan took ahold of his hips and sucked the fluid from the port.

            _He must be done by now._ _There wasn’t that much!_ Biting down any noise of discomfort, Francis felt his hands curling into fists as Regan traced the rim of the port.

            _Tell him to stop_ , Francis commanded himself. Yet, only a gasp of terror left him the moment he opened his mouth. This encouraged Regan on. His tongue slipped back inside, slowly prodding along the tract as Scaramouche had tried to do before.

            _Can’t speak! He’s not supposed to try and pleasure me. This is wrong! This is so wrong!_

            Having been forbidden from messing with Francis’ attachment before, Regan kept his attention focused on the port. His eyes had slipped closed as he worked. His tongue alternated from tracing just along the inside of the rim to reaching as far in as he could, pressing everywhere he could reach in seek of the pleasure centers.

            “That’s enough, Regan.” The coldness in his voice startled even himself. Regan jerked away, distancing himself in expectation of some other sort of punishment.

            “Did that not feel good, Mistress?” he posed quietly. Francis refused him answer, keeping a neutral expression while he calmed himself.

            “Of course not,” Regan answered himself. “I’m not good enough for you.”

            “You were fine. Let’s go to sleep.” Regan finished cleaning the remnants from his attachment, excusing himself for a moment as Francis only sat quietly at the foot of the bed. Habit took over after a few minutes of silence, and he found his body automatically pulling on his sleepwear and curling up under the covers.

            _I let him pleasure me_. His mind was reeling. _I swore I wouldn’t, but I let him! I never stopped him. I’m just doing a job. I have no right to let him do that!_ Biting his knuckles, he forced the bile back down his throat. He was not about to let it overcome him again.

            _He wasn’t pleasuring me,_ Francis tried to counteract the thoughts. _I didn’t want him to._ Yet, his member twitched at the thought of the tongue being just a few inches higher, activating the only pleasure centers that he had. _He would have, too. Willingly. He wants to so bad._

            His hips jerked and he let out a whimper. Both hands were pressed to his mouth as he smothered down the cry, not sure how long he had before Regan would return.

            “No. I will not.” Hearing the words helped his resolve. His compressors slowly settled, letting him relax enough. The bathroom door finally swung open. Regan passed him a weak smile, his eyes much duller than when he had entered.

            _He came again just from licking my port._ Disgusted, Francis returned the smile, rolling away from the edge of the bed so that Regan could sleep in his arms.

            “Are you alright, Francis? I didn’t …”

            “You did not hurt me, no.” His hands were stroking the smooth dome gently, the whirling circuits already softening. “I was only,” Francis trailed off a moment. _Considering ripping out my own circuitry._ “Tired,” he decided, not sure if Regan would even remember the conversation. An indecisive hum resounded, before Francis was left alone with his thoughts for the night.

 

Day 41:

            The attachment slid against the bare metal just hard enough for Regan to feel, but not enough to evoke any other response from Francis. One hand rested on Regan’s lower back, while the other stroked Regan’s member delicately.

            “It’s such a shame you don’t have a port,” Francis murmured. He only shook his head as the fingers twitched harshly, longing to join Francis’, albeit with more vigor. The first thing he had done that evening was bound Regan’s wrist behind his back to ensure his own attachment would not be tampered with.

            _This doesn’t count as pleasure. I won’t let it get that far!_ “There’s nowhere for me to … enjoy myself,” Francis sighed with faked exasperation. As he pressed his hips harder against Regan, the robot let out a needy whimper. Francis felt the twitch between his fingers, teasing lightly around the tip.

            “I’m sorry, Mistress,” Regan whispered, legs shaking as he tried not to grind back into Francis. “I want to pleasure you!” _I know. Even if you had a port, I wouldn’t use it._ Francis clamped down on his tongue, planning to scold Regan for what he could not control, but feeling a moan bubbling up in his chest.

            _I guess I had less resolve than I thought._ His hips thrusted forward involuntarily, his member dragging harder than he planned. Regan gave a hopeful chirp as Francis stroked his attachment harder. _Aku, that felt good!_   He forced himself to not get as excited, continuing to slowly grind against Regan. It was not long before he jerked against his client again.

            _A few more_ , his thoughts were interrupted as he rutted against Regan again. _Few more like that and I’ll cum. It’s been such a long time. Surely Scaramouche wouldn’t mind?_ Regan could not help but rock gently into Francis’ hand. The slight movement against Francis finally drew out a shaky groan.

            _Fuck no!_ Francis smashed his hips forward, nearly ready to orgasm. Against all desire, he began frantically stroking himself, forcing the anti-masturbation protocol to kick in. To mask his displeasure, he had begun jerking off Regan at the same pace.

            _It’s a good thing he’s getting off to the thought of me jacking off,_ Francis grimaced, a sizzling pain at being unable to cum shooting through his pleasure center. _He’s loud enough he won’t hear me._ Once he was sure he would no longer orgasm, he stopped stroking himself, instead biting on his knuckles as he cried out in pain.

            The attachment in his hand pulsed as Regan came. Hurriedly, Francis rolled Regan onto his back before mounting him roughly. The eyes below him went wide.

            “Did you think that little bit would be enough to satisfy me, Regan?” Francis hoped that would be enough explanation. He needed to distract Regan incase the lingering pain was still obvious on his own face. “Don’t just sit there motionless.” As best he could, Regan rolled his hips up to meet Francis’ hips. Francis rocked into the shallow thrusts as hard as he could, finally ending the compliments Regan was bestowing as they morphed back into pleasure filled cries in only a few minutes. _This might be a new record_ , Francis would have chuckled if the bile had not started rising in his throat. He was thankful that his quiet whimper was drowned out as Regan thrust hard, filling him for the first time that evening.

            “W-wait!” The timid cry from below came as Francis began grinding down on Regan again.

            “Tired already? I’ve hardly had my fill,” Francis sneered.

            “Please! Francis, stop! I need a break.” Francis tensed momentarily before shaking himself from his stupor. He rolled off of Regan, pulling him to a seated position and tearing at the rope until he untied him.

            “I’m sorry, Regan, I thought I would try something different. Did I hurt you?”

            “No. No, you didn’t,” Regan sighed, flexing his wrists. “It was just too much, too fast. Are you hurt? You look like you’re in pain.”

            “I’m fine,” Francis declared, sliding closer and putting an arm around Regan’s shoulders. His client leaned against his shoulder, dull eyes half closed.

            “Why don’t we go to bed?” Francis suggested, planting a soft kiss on Regan’s head.

            “Before we do, would you like me to … to help you unwind?” Regan gestured with a curt nod to Francis’ attachment, still erect from the lack of attention. _I know you so desperately want to and I would not mind the release, but no. It is betrayal enough what I do._

            “No. Don’t worry about it, Regan. Go, get ready for bed.”

 

Day 44:

            “Pleasure me,” Francis commanded simply as he lined up his port with Regan’s mouth. He had been teasing him for a while, keeping a strong hold on Regan’s head as he let his attachment drag within inches of his mouth. With a harsh reminder he still was not allowed to handle Francis’ attachment, Francis conceded to let Regan work his tongue in the port. The already whirling compressors seemed to work a little louder at the allowance.

            Since Francis had expressed his disappointment in Regan not having a port, Regan had become nearly obsessed with Francis’. He had timidly offered to pleasure Francis a few times, longing so clear in his features.

            _I don’t know why he wants me to have an orgasm in his presence. He doesn’t enjoy the control of it, so there should be no reason for him to want me to cum._ Francis spoke not a word as the tongue shot up inside of him. Regan’s eyes slipped closed, finally relieving Francis of the intense, admirable stare. As demanded, Regan did not touch the attachment as it rested against his cheek, focusing only on the port. His hands had crept up Francis thighs, caressing his hips when Francis did not complain.

            _Maybe it’s a sub thing? He seems to have experience. Had I been built correctly, he would have found the pleasure centers easily._ Francis waited a long while to make a move, surprised that Regan never bored of his task. The tongue moved gracefully, prodding every inch it could reach thoughtfully. In an effort to pleasure Francis, Regan would work the rim for a while before returning to the rest of the tract.

            “You’re so good to me, Regan. So obedient.” He stroked Regan’s head, gently prying him away from his port.

            “Did you enjoy it, Mistress?” Francis watched the hopeless glance from his face to his limp attachment before the eyes flickered back up.

            “Oui. You felt amazing,” Francis purred, kneeling in front of Regan. _Will you call me out on this?_ Yet, Francis knew the answer. “And here you are, pleasuring me before you take care of yourself. You’re so good.” The reward was a flutter of fingers across his member.

            “And after such a long week,” he cooed, his fingers tracing faster along the already twitching member. Regan watched with uncertainty. Francis did not leave him in limbo for long, thrusting his head forward to peck him on the lips. With his free hand, he drew Regan closer, pulling him in for a longer kiss.

            Having been so close to orgasming, Regan could not return the gesture. He let out a moan, his hips thrusting into Francis’ hand. With his mouth hanging open, Francis nibbled on his lower lip. His tongue darted out, grazing the areas after his teeth. Fingers curled tighter over Regan’s member.

            “Cum for me, Regan. Show me how much you enjoy this.” The limp arms came to life as he took hold of Francis’ hips again, thrusting to match the quickening hand movements. His head slipped back, Francis left to press his lips against the exposed throat as Regan sang his quiet praises to the ceiling. Another hard thrust left Francis’ chest covered in the artificial fluids.

            “Thank you, Mistress,” he turned his head back down, thanking him repeatedly between each fleeting kiss Francis bestowed on him. Suddenly, Francis lunged forward. He kissed him hard and pushed him backwards on the floor, making sure to keep an arm under Regan’s head to keep him comfortable. Regan jerked at the abrupt change of pace. His apprehension was alieved as Francis explained he wanted to ride him, grinding his port down on the attachment slick with artificial fluids. The gentle hands wrapped loosely around Francis’ hips as he flattened himself on top of Regan. Hiding the grimace with a faked sigh, Francis pressed down on Regan, taking the attachment to the hilt.

            “Thrust into me, Regan,” Francis purred. “I want you to relax and enjoy yourself. You’ve been so stressed this week.”

            “Of course!” Planting his feet on the outside of Francis’ knees, he rolled his hips up, meeting every movement tenderly. Regan was content. Hardly increasing his speed as the hour dragged on, Francis finally broke the near silence.

            “Do you like this, Regan?”

            “Yes! You’re so kind to me, Mistress. I love you.” The last sentence was nearly lost as a shuttering purr wracked Regan’s body. Francis faltered, but was never scolded. _This. He loves this, not me. Right?_ Resuming the steady pace, Francis transferred all his weight on the arm behind Regan’s head.

            “You’re so well behaved,” Francis complimented, tracing the thumb of his free hand along Regan’s cheek. Regan’s face cracked into a shy smile as he nuzzled into the hand. “Cum again for me, Regan. Fill me.” Francis rolled his hips down faster, taking Regan in deep with every downward motion. He varied the angle he came down, making sure the pleasure centers were still activated as he felt the tell-tale signs Regan was close.

            As the artificial fluids gushed inside of his port, Francis slowed his movements to a halt, resting his full weight on top of Regan. His employer had also stilled. The limp arms rested on the floor instead of on Francis’ lower back, his head lolled against Francis’ arm.

            “You needed that, hm?” Francis pressed one last lingering kiss to the slightly parted lips before pushing himself up. He pulled Regan to his feet, letting his employer loiter in his arms for a few minutes as his system cooled.

            “Let me clean up before the coolant gets everywhere,” Francis pulled away first. Meandering to the bathroom, his face fell as soon as the lock clicked shut.

            “He loves me,” the realization was voiced aloud, making it all too real. _He doesn’t just want to hire me. That wasn’t a slip of the tongue. He’s dead serious._ Francis was well acquainted with the look of lust, but he also realized there was more than that. Longing for something more than just a causal relationship had been present in the last few weeks. _I can’t ignore the signs any longer, but what can I do?_ Wiping the fluid off his chest and from his port, Francis returned a few minutes later, still wearing his false smile.

            “You’ll come back after this stay, won’t you, Francis?” Regan asked timidly as he settled in Francis arms for the night. _As I feared._

            “Perhaps. I’ll still be here for a little over two weeks,” he shifted the conversation. “Now rest. You’ve been so tired all week.”

 

Day 49:

            Regan readjusted himself again. His legs grazed Francis’, followed by a whispered apology as he shifted closer. _Should have made him do more of the work tonight._

            “I can’t sleep,” Regan stated simply. Francis opened his eyes only halfway, frowning in the darkness at how bright the orbs across from him still were.

            “Don’t worry about the meeting tomorrow. I’m sure it will all go smoothly.” Closing his eyes, Francis settled back on the pillow, willing Regan to do the same.

            “You’re probably right, Francis.” He turned to his other side, clutching the hand that now rested on his chest. Attempting to be more comforting, Francis wrapped his legs around Regan, pulling him closer and kissing the back of his head.

            “You should rest,” Francis encouraged. He longed to distract himself from falling asleep. As usual, he had pretended to be asleep until he no longer heard Regan’s circuitry, but tonight was the first time his tactic had failed. _I’m too close to pretend much longer. I should have told Scaramouche I had something to do and taken the usual nap._ Regan rolled over a third time, nuzzling back into Francis’ chest.

            “Do you want another round, Regan?” He knew he was breaking the rules, but was not sure how to proceed.

            “No, thank you. My tank might be empty after that,” he smiled. “But, is it … is it okay if I make a request?” Francis hummed an affirmative, feeling Regan pull back from him.

            “May I … May I watch you sleep?”  Francis pried open one eye, finding it difficult to keep it that way.

            “Why would you want to do that?”

            “I think it would be relaxing! And I’ve … well, I’ve never seen you fall asleep first at night.” With a sigh, Francis let his eye slip closed again.

            “That’s fine.” _You’ll not succeed. I will wait you out._

            “It won’t … bother you, will it? I don’t want to do anything to upset you, Mistress!” Snuggling closer, he began stroking Francis’ back gently.

            “You’re so beautiful,” his voice tapered off into a hushed purr. “You must be twice a lovely when you sleep.” The long strokes gradually slowed, the whirling circuits starting to fade.

            _Just a little longer … he’ll be asleep…_

 

Day 50:

            The arm that was not weighted down flailed. It took him another second to realize that Regan was still fast asleep in his arms even as Francis fought against him. A sliver of dawn’s light was streaking through the window, only increasing Francis’ panic.

            _I fell asleep! How could I be so careless?_ His body had stilled as his mind raced. Regan was carefully nestled in his arms, one arm furled against his chest, the other limply laid across Francis’ back. Feeling bile, Francis carefully slid backwards. Free from Regan’s embrace, he quietly dashed to the bathroom.

            A hard retch produced nothing. In the silence of the morning, he starred down at the sink, waiting to see if he could maintain control. _Regan would never hurt me. He would never take advantage of me like the other clients would._ His eyes traveled up to his own expression. Save for the slightly tangled hair and hollowed expression, he looked well rested for the morning.

            “You’re alright,” he uttered to his reflection. “You have to go back so Regan does not worry when he wakes up.” The return to the bedroom was equally quiet as the escape. Everything was rearranged as Francis found himself upon waking up, down to the exact position of Regan’s hand on his back. He waited another hour.

            “Did you sleep well?” The same question Regan asked every morning was uttered as Regan nuzzled against the chest.

            “Of course,” Francis supplied the usual answer, hating that it was not a lie for once.

            “You look … tense? Are you –”

            “I’m fine.” It came out too harsh. Francis cursed himself as he felt the flinch. Trying to remedy the situation, he tilted Regan’s head up and planted a soft kiss on his forehead. “Why wouldn’t I be fine? You worry about me too much, Regan.”

            “You’re right. I’m sorry! I just want you to be comfortable.”

~/~

            “One phone call down,” Francis muttered as he hung up on Sandra, closing his eyes against the florescence bathroom light. Black oil plinked against the sides of the sink as it dropped off his chin. Absently, he dialed Scaramouche’s number, well-practiced since he had tried five times before he took a break to call Sandra, hanging up after only one ring each time.

            “No games, no gimmicks. Just tell him,” he hissed at himself as he let the second, then third ringtone play out.

“I’m a sex bot!” he spat out after each consecutive ring, expecting Scaramouche to pick up at any second. He heard the click he was waiting for.

“I’m a –!” He stopped abruptly at the sound of a voice.

“—Leave a message and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can, babe!” There was another pause followed by another click.

“Scaramouche, it’s Francis. I’m a –” Unable to stop himself, a large wave of the burnt oil clogged his throat. He vomited, holding in the pathetic whimper the best he could. _I can’t do this. I can’t do anything right._ “I need you, Mon Cher. I need to talk to you.” _Just say it!_

“Please call me,” the plea was hardly audible. The phone clattered to the floor as he was sick a second time, his entire frame shaking. He sank to his knees and sobbed.

~/~

            “Francis … I made you some dinner.”

            “I’m not hungry.” Francis did not know if his weakly muttered response was heard nor did he care. It seemed as if every circuit in his body was straining as his system tried to maintain all functions at the minimum level of oil. Still, the pain did not diminish his distress.

            _I can’t let him come in, can’t let him help me. It’s not fair to him. He needs me to pull it together to help him! That’s my job. Another job I’m too pathetic for._ A thin trail of oil made its way over his lips as he buried his face in his arms. Yet, the feel was off. Too thin to be oil, Francis finally had a new fear: keeping calm enough to prevent any more loss of critical coolant. There was not long to consider this new variable when the doorknob rattled.

            “I told you, I just need to rest for a bit longer,” Francis whimpered, shying away from the door and trying to curl his body into a smaller ball. There was a sharp gasp, but not the panicked shouts Francis was expecting from his employer.

            “Let me call a doctor.” Regan knelt by Francis’ side. Calmly, he brushed Francis’ arms away, putting a gentle hand under Francis’ chin. With Francis’ head tilted up, Regan carefully wiped the remaining oil off his chin and neck.

            “No. No, I’m fine.” _You’ll pay for it, and I just can’t let you. Not with everything else that you do._

            “Francis, you’re not fine.” Francis forced his eyes shut to stop looking at the concern filled face, his eyebrows knitted together as he tried not to let out the sob that boiled in his throat.

            “No doctors,” Francis continued to refuse. His body shook uncontrollably as Regan embraced him comfortingly.

            “Alright, I won’t force you to, but you need to eat and then go straight to bed.”

            “I can work for you tonight!” Francis insisted, finally prying his eyes back open, as if that would prove his point.

            “No!” Francis jumped at the denial, having never had Regan deny him outright. “I cannot work you tonight in this state. That would be wrong of me. I will pay you for tonight. You are allowed to take paid days off. That I don’t mind, but I cannot possibly ask you to work for me like this.”

            “I’m sorry.” The whispered response was followed by a harsh spasm as he was sick again.

            “Won’t you reconsider seeing a doctor?” Regan’s calm façade was broken momentarily as the green coolant stained the cloth he was using. Francis’ eyes had slipped closed again as he shook his head.

            “Very well, but you must eat now.” Regan stood up briskly and retreated to the kitchen. He returned moments later, patiently forcing Francis to take the bowl. Only after Francis ate two spoonfuls did he return to the kitchen.

            “You need to eat some more,” Regan determined when he returned a second time.

            “I …can’t.”

            “Drink some of this, and then try to consume a bit more oil.” Regan exchanged the bowl with a glass of a bright green fluid. “It’s not the best, but it will have to do for now. I’ll get you some better coolant tomorrow.”

            His body reacted poorly nearly the second the glass touched his lips. After only a few swallows, he retched, the mouthful he had been trying to get down spewing between his fingers. Retching again, what little he had consumed was returned as he doubled over.

            “Please try again. I know it’s not pleasant, but you have to take care of your system!” Regan had begun stroking Francis’ back, using his other hand to push him back to a seated position. Knowing that Regan would surely call a doctor if he failed to get any coolant down, Francis tried again. He forced himself to drain the glass, his body trying to expel the liquid once he finished, but he managed not to throw up.

            “Have another bite of oil,” Regan had managed to keep his cool through the ordeal, now pushing a spoonful to Francis’ pursed lips. Francis only accepted two bites before he refused the rest, moaning quietly in discomfort.

            “Alright, let’s get you into bed.” Leaving the bowls on the ground, Regan wrapped a steady arm behind Francis, pulling him to his feet. Slowly, they made their way to the master bedroom. Once Francis was sat down on the side of the bed, Regan removed the oil stained shirt and pants. He redressed Francis in a nightshirt before coaxing him under the covers.

            “Would you be more comfortable sleeping by yourself?” Francis nodded sadly, hating himself, but knowing he needed solitude if he wanted to rest peacefully.

            “That won’t be a problem at all,” Regan sat on the edge of the bed for a moment, stroking Francis’ cheek. “I’ll be right across the hall in the first guest room. I’ll bring your phone up and you can call me if you need anything at all during the night.” Francis nodded again, his half closed eyes finally fading completely. He powered off just as Regan left the room.

 

Day 51:

            “Regan?” Francis jerked awake on the empty bed. His system still pained him, but it was at a much more tolerable level after a few hours of recharging. Regan had brought up more than just his phone. On the bedside table was more oil and coolant. Francis could not help the bitter laugh that escaped him. _I don’t even deserve him as an employer, let alone a friend._ _I owe him_. The realization brought him quickly to his feet. His body failed him as he nearly collapsed forwards, but he managed to right himself in time. Leaning heavily on the wall, he made his way to the guest room.

            “You’re awake? What do you need?” Regan’s shock was identical to Francis’ own. He had not expected Regan to already be awake at this hour. _But of course, he was fretting over me all night._

            “Nothing. I … I’m sorry about yesterday. May I come in?” Although by the time he forced out the question, Regan was nearly in front of him.

            “Of course!” Regan took his arm gently as Francis made his way to the guest bed.

            “Let me apologize for yesterday.” The confusion in Regan’s eyes quickly faded into concern.

            “Francis,” Regan pulled him into a tight embrace once they were both seated. “You don’t need to worry about it. You weren’t feeling well. It’s alright!”

            “No, that was unprofessional. Please, you must let me make it up to you. I know your work puts you through a lot of stress and I only made it worse yesterday.” He wrapped his own arms around Regan, trying to demonstrate his returning strength.

            “You should be resting. We can resume your contracted duties tomorrow night.”

            “Regan,” Francis drew back from the embrace, instead tilting Regan’s head up. He leaned back in, planting a languid kiss on his lips before speaking again. “I’m feeling better now. It was not fair what I did to you.”

            “But –” Francis cut him off by kissing him again. He drew him close as he pulled them both down on the bed. _I’m here. I don’t want to miss three days of pay._ The grip only relaxed enough so that Regan could get comfortable.

            “Please promise me that you’ll tell me if I’m too rough on your system!”

            “I will,” Francis stated, deftly unbuttoning Regan’s suit before he pulled Regan’s tongue into his mouth. Working his way down, Francis released Regan’s attachment, stroking the full length with his fingertips. He paused for another moment to lower his own underwear. On his side, he slid up a few inches to align Regan’s attachment with his port.

            “You don’t have to do this tonight,” Regan tried to insist one last time.

            “I want to,” the lie sounded genuine as he rolled his hips down. Locking his top leg behind Regan, he continued to grind back and forth against the embedded attachment. Francis rolled Regan onto his back. The pace remained the same in the quiet room, the silence only broken by the whirling compressors and metal sliding together. Regan’s hands threaded through Francis’ hair as he held him tight.

            “You can cum,” Francis whispered after an hour. He had nearly forgotten he had a role to fill. There was two gentle thrusts up before the artificial fluids spilled inside of him.

            “I can’t allow you to pleasure me again,” Regan sighed as Francis began rocking against him. Rolling back to his side, he pulled out, leaning over Francis to scout around in the nightstand for a cloth. “If … if you’re not finished, I can … I would be more than happy to help, but because of  yesterday –”

            “I understand.” _Let him. You’re a failure anyway. You might as well give up on your hopeless quest to keep yourself pure for Scaramouche. You owe him that._ “You can …you can stroke my attachment if you want.” Francis slid his hips back, granting the access Regan had been pining after for weeks.

            “Are you … sure?” The voice shook in anticipation. Francis nodded.  “How-how fast? What should I do?” Hating the questions and just wanting to get it over with, Francis took Regan’s hand, curling the fingers around his attachment. He picked a brisk pace, sliding the hand along his attachment for a few strokes before letting Regan take charge.

            A whimper escaped him after a few minutes. The hand faltered in the pace, but Francis encouraged him to keep going. Regan’s hands skated over the pleasure center, but he returned his focus to the area once he heard the smothered moan. It was not long after the activation that Francis could no longer hold back the thrust into the hand.

            “R-Regan, I’m close,” his body shook as he neared the peak of pleasure. Pushing the used cloth back into Regan’s free hand, he forced Regan to cover the head to limit the mess.

            With his forehead pressed to Regan’s junction between his chest and  neck, Francis thrust forward. True pleasure rattled his frame for the first time since he had last seen Scaramouche. He let out a single, small cry as he came.

            “Would you like to go a second round?” Francis muttered as Regan cleaned him gently.   

            “N-not tonight. Y-you need t-to rest. Excuse me for … I’ll be back!” Regan pecked him on the top of the head before dashing to the bathroom. Francis chuckled. His false smile fell quickly, but he did not allow himself to sob. Without bothering to move an inch, he let himself power down. _It doesn’t matter anymore._

 

Day 52:

            Light streamed through curtains. Turning his head, Francis saw the bed was empty. _I wonder where he went so early_. Francis was about to settle in for another nap when he realized he was on the wrong side of the house for the light to be the sunrise. A note waited for him on the bedside table.

            ‘ _I received a call this morning for an urgent job. I expect to be gone for four or five days. Please call me when you wake up. I left some money on the table so you can go into town and pick up some better coolant. Take care, Regan._ ’

            Not wasting another moment, Francis grabbed his phone, which Regan had left on the bedside table.

            “How are you feeling, Francis?”

            “Much better, thank you.”

            “If you’re not feeling up to it, I would be more than willing to void the contact so that you can go home and rest. I would prefer that you take care of yourself than put too much stress on your system.” _No, I’d be losing eight days!_

            “I was just having an off day. Now that I’m rested, I will be able to uphold my end of the contract. I am terribly sorry for Friday night.” Regan insisted that Francis had nothing to worry about.

            “Regan, would you like me to travel out to you so that you’re not losing days?” There was a sigh on the other end of the line.

            “No, I think it would be best if you just took the time to rest if you’re not going home. I expect I will be too busy. Please take care of yourself.” Francis swore he would before bidding his employer farewell.

 

Day 54:

            “Francis, babe, I am so sorry I could not call you back! Are you alright?”

            “Oui, I am much better. I was having a bad day, Mon Cher,” Francis murmured as he curled up on the couch.

            “I’ll be home in a week, babe. You know I can take care of whatever made you have a bad day, right, babe?” _Maybe it would be better if you disposed of me._

            “Don’t worry about it. I’m fine now.” There was a long pause, and Francis worried they had lost connection.

            “Are you really sure you’re alright, babe? You don’t sound like yourself.”

            “I’m just tired.” _Tired of existing._

            “Aw, not sleeping as good without me, babe?” Scaramouche chuckled, blowing him a kiss. When Francis did not respond, he continued. “You know that if something’s bothering you, you can tell me, babe!”

            _I’m just sleeping around with someone else. We fuck every day. It’s no big deal, right?_ Francis lamented bitterly.

            “You still there, babe?”

            “I’m still here. I’m sorry, I think I need to rest. I look forward to seeing you soon.” Francis only enjoyed the solitude for another hour.

            “I know Regan sent you, but I am not as bad as he says.”

            “I was assuming it would be the average of what he said and what you’re trying to tell me. Regan made it seem like you were on your death bed, and I assumed you’d insist you were at your peak. Perhaps you’d like a little company at least?”

            “Alright.” Francis held the door open as Sandra brought in her equipment. Sandra made her way into the living room, Francis trailing behind.

            “I can tell you don’t want me to do anything. Do you want to tell me what’s bothering you? Not another sentient being will be told.”

            “I’m cheating on my boyfriend.” _There. Now she can see who I really am._ Francis stared down at his hands, swallowing hard as he waited for a response.

            “You’re just doing your job. Maybe you could talk to him?”

            “He … he doesn’t know I’m a sex bot. He thinks … he thinks I’m a bounty hunter. Well, he just doesn’t know exactly what my initial purpose was,” Francis laughed bitterly, drawing a sleeve across his mouth to wipe away the oil oozing out the corners.  “He’s a little dense on some things.” Sandra was quiet as Francis tried to collect himself.

            “I’ve tried to tell him. I’ve hinted at it, but … he just doesn’t get it! I’m too scared to tell him now. I’ve been here for nearly two months and Regan’s hired me before. I hate that I’m  so pathetic. It’s always …I’ve always been this pathetic. It’s worse now, because no one’s ever wanted me. And Regan … Regan’s falling in love with me, but I don’t love him! I need the money, and no one paid me this well. I had retired five years ago. I quit this industry. I never wanted to come back, but … I hate all of this. I hate myself. It’s just …” He gagged, pressing both hands to his mouth. Sandra was quick to snatch a towel from her bag, holding it under his chin until she could get it under his hands.

            “I’m sorry,” his muffled response came as he closed his eyes. Sandra shushed him quietly, helping him hold the towel in place until the flow had stopped.

            “I don’t know what to do,” he bowed his head in shame after wiping the remnants off his face and hands.

            “This explains all the excess stress in your system. You need more help than I can provide, though. Let me get some of your contact information, and I’ll send you some resources. Don’t worry, they’re free!”

 

Day 60:

            It was far from a mansion, but it was home. Francis dropped his single bag just inside the front door. He dragged the two packages inside, ignoring the guilt as he looked at the sender address.

            _He must think I’m a cold hearted bastard for not thanking him,_ Francis frowned as he unpackaged the two boxes of flowers. The first, obviously sent early in his time away, was dried and crumbling. Weeding out the ones that were too wilted in the second set, Francis was able to salvage enough to make a centerpiece of the red and purple roses. He found a decent looking jar and arranged them. The remaining ones were taken deep into the woods behind his house and disposed of.

            His bed lulled him towards it. Ignoring the desire to just sleep until the following day, Francis dumped out the contents of his bag. The gifts from Regan were buried deep in his dresser with the intention of never seeing the light of day again.

            It was the item in his pocket that remained of the greatest interest. He drew out the check, finally examining it. Shaking fingers had taken if from Regan earlier that morning, but he did not even check the amount. He felt assured that Regan would not betray him and folded the check before stuffing it in his pocket with a final gesture of thanks that left Regan a bit flustered as he departed for work.

            _$602,000. More than I’ve made in my whole life, let alone in one year._ Even after half went to taxes, Francis was content with the amount. He tidied himself up before heading to the bank.

            _I’m sure they will not doubt question me for a good hour before depositing this. At least they’ll be happy knowing rent payments are assured for quite a while._

 

Day 61:

            “I missed you, Mon Cher.” Francis tightened his death grip around Scaramouche’s waist as he nuzzled into the purple coat.

            “Let me at least come inside, babe. I’m aching for you, but don’t want to give your neighbors a show.” Francis pulled one of the bags out of Scaramouche’s hand and lugged it into the guest room. Before Francis could even suggest a meal, Scaramouche grabbed him and wrestled him onto the bed.

            “You know I thought about you every day, babe,” Scaramouche kissed him roughly, tugging the buttons loose. “No task my supervisor gave me could keep my mind off of you.”

            “I wanted to be with you so much,” Francis returned the passion, having shoved Scaramouche’s belt out of his way. “I have to thank you for those lovely gifts, first. Then we must make up for all this lost time.”

            “That’s music to my ears, babe!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to Salacious Shipping for allowing me to borrow Francis! You can find more information about their artwork here (https://goo.gl/1t59on) and their Patreon here (https://www.patreon.com/ssnsfw/posts).


	14. Where He Belongs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Francis is much more content on the floor between Scaramouche's knees. He finally feels like he's at the right place.

**Where He Belongs**

 

            The port quivered as Francis’ tongue grazed one edge. It did not take more than the anticipation for the fluids to start gathering, but Scaramouche sat quivering as directed. His hands were clawed in Francis’ hair. All of his willpower was directed at not pulling Francis closer, having been told the wait would be worth his while.

            Francis savored the slow approach. Since Scaramouche had returned home, each night was fast and frantic. Enjoyable, but quite a change from what Francis had grown accustomed to. He had taken control of the night. It was simpler than he imagined, but he had a hunch having to be a dominant personality for so long had helped.

            “I want to admire you for more than just a few minutes, Mon Cher,” he had purred. “Let me taste every inch of you again. It’s been too long.” Scaramouche had reluctantly stopped tearing at their clothing, letting Francis position him at the foot of the bed and gently strip off his coat. He knelt between Scaramouche’s legs, planting soft kisses everywhere except where Scaramouche wanted them. Eventually, he took pity and ran his tongue along the outside port.

            “You’re so wet already,” Francis teased, lapping at the fluid as it trickled down the hip plate.

            “I thought – thought you wanted to taste every inch of me, babe,” Scaramouche whined.

            “I do,” Francis grinned before tracing his tongue just a little too far away from the bundle of circuits at the top of the port. Scaramouche let out a whimper, his hips jerking towards Francis. Hardly deterred as his own jaw was jarred, Francis returned his focus to the port. He dipped his tongue in a little deeper, gliding along the inside of the rim. The two month stay did nothing to diminish his memory. With pinpoint precision, he pressed against the first pleasure center.

            More fluid dribbled down his chin as he continued to tease just along the inside. Scaramouche resolve faltered as he pulled Francis tightly against him and locked his legs behind Francis’ back. _Have I made you suffer too long, Mon Cher? Let me put you out of your misery._ Without warning, his tongue shot deeper, flicking against the second pleasure center until Francis put enough pressure on it for a proper activation.

            “Francis, baby!” The rest of his sentence was lost as he rutted his hips forward. Riding out his orgasm, he fell backwards, legs sliding limp on either side of Francis.

            “Come back, Mon Cher,” Francis kissed just above the external pleasure center again. “I’m not finished with you yet.”

            “I’ll admit it, babe: You really know what you’re doing with your tongue.” He sat back up, rubbing Francis’ head as he continued feeling around the tract. _I’ll stall a few more minutes and treat him to a grand finale._ The tongue grazed over the four internal pleasure centers, not lingering long enough. Once Scaramouche’s legs involuntarily locked behind Francis again, he went to work.

            Starting at the farthest he could reach, he dragged his tongue out, writhing against each pleasure center on his way out. His mouth was full of the fluid, but it did not hinder him as he went for the final touches.

            Locking his lips, he suckled on the external bundle of circuits, nearly drawing out a shriek of pleasure as Scaramouche toppled back once more. Francis swallowed the mouthful, lapping at what was spilling over Scaramouche’s hips and on the sheets. He withdrew a cloth from his pocket and wiped up the remainder, sending a shudder shooting through Scaramouche when his fingers accidently grazed the port rim.

            The taller robot was still racked with remnants of the fading pleasure when Francis climbed on top of him. He nestled his head against Scaramouche’s jaw.

            “Was it worth the wait, Mon Cher?” Francis almost chuckled, and would have sworn he could hear Scaramouche rolling his eyes.

            “You don’t have to make me wait that long, babe. I almost blew a circuit in the beginning!” He was quiet for a moment. “Yeah, it was worth it, baby!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to Salacious Shipping for allowing me to borrow Francis! You can find more information about their artwork here (https://goo.gl/1t59on) and their Patreon here (https://www.patreon.com/ssnsfw/posts).


	15. Never Too Tired

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Francis knows something is seriously wrong when Scaramouche does not even attempt to make out with him.

**Never Too Tired**

 

            “Do you want some dinner, Mon Cher?” Francis stood in the doorway of the darkened room. He had been in the middle of repairing his vest when Scaramouche had returned home and was told not to worry about him. He had thought Scaramouche was just going to tidy up after a long mission, but he had never come back down.

            “No thanks, babe. I’m kind of tired.”

            “Would you like me to join you?”

            “I take it back! I’m never too tired for you, baby!” Francis heard the rustle as Scaramouche readjusted. He saw the eyes reappear, duller than usual, but meeting Francis’ intently.

            “Last time you were on the tired side, you short circuited in the middle of the session,” Francis chided gently as he climbed on top of Scaramouche. Scaramouche laughed, hugging him tight.

            “I promise I won’t conk out on you. You feel too good for me to do that again, babe.” Francis cradled Scaramouche’s head in his arms as he kissed him passionately. Scaramouche’s arms rested lightly on Francis’ back, his tongue lolling inside Francis’ mouth. _I can’t believe he’s too tired to even get in my pants. He would have had them down at my knees by now._ One hand slid down Scaramouche’s neck, pressing ever so slightly against the circulation point to get a reading. _He’s not even aroused! This isn’t like him._

            “What’s the matter, Mon Cher? Am I doing something wrong?” Francis drew back, studying the dull orbs. They shot up in confusion.

            “What? No, no, no, babe. It’s not you. I was … just thinking. What if I took off, babe? You know how I’m always on call now, but what if we took a vacation for a couple months?”

            “I have to work,” Francis sighed, untangling one arm so he could run his thumb along Scaramouche’s jaw.

            “We could still go bounty hunting …it’ll be fun! We’ll catch bounties in exotic locations, babe! On the beach, during the day! Then at night, we’ll watch the sunset and drink some wine, babe. I won’t have any work, no obligations, nothing! I’ll be yours, all day long, baby!”

            “What’s really bothering you?” Francis needled, a hand still on Scaramouche’s throat. In the pale light his eyes were admitting, Francis saw his face fall.

            “My target got away … again, babe. The higher powers aren’t looking at me too favorably right now.”

            “It happens, Mon Cher.” Francis pecked him on the lips quickly. “Could I help you track them down?”

            “You know I have the utmost respect for you, right, babe?” Francis affirmed quietly, keeping his face even. “The target … well, he was trained by Jack, babe. And … if anything happened to you, babe … well, I just couldn’t live with myself! I don’t want to do anything that would hurt you.”

            “It’s alright. I understand.” A gentle smile and a reassuring hand on his chin finally brought a more peaceful expression to Scaramouche’s face. They were still for a while.

            “Did he hurt you, Mon Cher?” Scaramouche let out a harsh laugh.

            “Just my ego, babe. Everything else can be buffed out.”

            “What if we took off one week?” Francis purred, feeling guilty already at the idea of not working. Nevertheless, he reminded himself he had built up a nice cushion. “No bounty hunting required.”

            “You’d do that, babe?”

            “Oui. I’ve never been on a proper vacation.”

            “Babe, it’s going to be the vacation of your dreams!”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to Salacious Shipping for allowing me to borrow Francis! You can find more information about their artwork here (https://goo.gl/1t59on) and their Patreon here (https://www.patreon.com/ssnsfw/posts).


	16. Last Gig

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scaramouche finally discovers the original intention for which Francis was built.

**Last Gig**

 

            He never expected to be attacked in the confines of his own house. It may not have been a secure fortress, but it hardly warranted anyone breaking in. Thrashing, he could find no purchase with his feet as his assailant swooped him off the ground and tackled him to the bed.

            “You’re a little jumpy, babe,” Scaramouche teased as he rolled to his back, pulling Francis on top of him.

            “I … I wasn’t expecting you for another week,” Francis admitted.

            “I finished early. Thought I’d stop in and surprise you, baby. So, where ‘ya going bounty hunting? Can I come?” Scaramouche did not leave him a moment to answer, rolling on top of him as he went to get off the bed.

            “I’m not –”

            “What’s this, babe?” With disdain, he kicked at the silk sleepshirt that had fallen out of the bag Francis had been packing before Scaramouche surprised him.

            “There’s something I need to tell you,” Francis murmured to the floor.

            “You’re damn right there’s something you need to tell me, babe.” The spat statement might as well have been a physical blow.

            “I’m a sex bot.” He could not bring himself to look up. It did not matter if it was hurt, anger, disappointment, or a mixture of the three painted in the blue crescents, Francis knew he did not want to see the expression.

            “A what?”

            “I tried to tell you,” Francis finally sobbed. “I was built to be a sex bot. That’s why I have a trigger word, why everyone always stares, why I know what I’m doing in bed.” The sound of ripping fabric made him flinch as the first drips of foul oil worked its way over his lower lip.

            “So you go find someone to fuck you while I’m not in town, babe? Just can’t wait for me to come home?”

            “It’s not like that! It’s a job –”

            “Is it, babe, or is it just nice to be in bed with someone who actually knows what they’re doing?”

            “That’s not why I went back to that lifestyle!” Francis threw himself in Scaramouche’s path towards the door, finally able to look up. It was not anger that met him, but an unbridled sense of abandonment.

            “Please, Scaramouche, don’t go! I’m sorry!”

            “It’s probably better for you this way, babe. Being with someone who’s go in bed, can take care of you.” Scaramouche grabbed the collar of Francis’ shirt.

            “I’m not trying to replace you! I do love you—”

            “Stop.” The push was harder than intended, sending Francis staggering backwards once the shirt ripped out of Scaramouche’s grasp. His head smashed into the master bedroom doorframe with a neck jarring crack. In the chaos, Francis thought Scaramouche glanced back in shame, but he was sure he only imagined the look as he slowly pushed himself back to his feet. His companion was halfway down the stairs when he found his voice again.

            “I just needed the money back then. I couldn’t cut it as a bounty hunter,” he admitted, gripping the banister at the stop of the stairs. His legs threatened to give way, which would send him tumbling down the stairs, but he considered that almost a better option at this point.

            “Why didn’t you ask me for help, babe?” It was more of an accusation than a question, his normally jovial eyes pinched into sharp triangles. Francis could not comprehend an answer fast enough as Scaramouche spun on his toe and marched towards the door. The door survived the initial jerk open, but the top hinge failed as the doorframe broke and the door swung in the wrong direction, leaving it useless and dangling.

            _Because I was ashamed,_ Francis admitted to himself, his own joints failing as he dropped to his knees. _Because I’ve always been a fucking coward._ When he finally vomited, the only thing that surprised him was that he had managed to fight it down for so long. The second and third wave, made worse as he constantly berated himself, stained the floor and the remnants of his ripped shirt.

            Once he felt empty, he shakily drew out his phone. He texted Scaramouche a short apology only to receive an immediate response. His number had been blocked.

~/~

            The intruder had come in tentatively. Francis heard them struggle to work the ruined door and considered calling down to them so they would be able to find him and finish him off quickly. Yet, the best he could produce was a slight groan. He did not know how much time had passed, but he knew it had not been enough.

            It did not take long for the intruder to search the two rooms on the lower level. Footsteps pounded up the stairs, and Francis knew the intruder shouted in surprise, but could not focus on the words or the sound of the voice. There was no power left in him to move, so he was stuck staring at a small patch of floor he could see from the slumped position he had assumed before his body had given out on him. The shoes entered his vision.

            _Use me and kill me. Just get it over with._ _I’ve made too many mistakes to keep living like this_. While he thought the floor was a good enough place as any to die, Francis almost found himself amused as the figure began dragging his almost lifeless body down the hall. With much of a struggle, his frame was finally hefted into the bed and adjusted so that he was lying flat on his back. The jarring movements had dissolved his vision into static. The intruder was speaking to him, too softly for Francis to make out. In response, Francis gagged, but there was no fluid left to expel.

~/~

            “He’s gone,” Francis murmured drowsily.

            “Yes, he’s gone. You’re safe.” An ache had festered in his entire body. Even the mere thought of movement  made him want to cry out in agony. Clenching his jaw, and ignoring the pain like he had been taught to, he tried to sit up. Gentle hands pulled him back.

            “Shhh, lie still,” the same voice commanded. “You’re severely injured.”

            “But he’s not here,” Francis insisted, wincing as he tried again, but successfully held in the cry that wanted to erupt from his mouth.

            “That’s right. Whoever hurt you isn’t here. I won’t let them hurt you again.” _Regan? Figures._ Francis stopped trying to fight against him, opting to instead to rest his head on Regan’s lap. Content that Francis was no longer going to attempt to leave, Regan stroked Francis’ cheeks with his fingertips, whispering soothingly. Vision was beginning to return as his body began reactivating more fully. A figure appeared in the doorway, and he immediately went into battle mode.

            “It’s okay. It’s okay. It’s just the doctor,” Regan had pressed his hands against Francis’ shoulders again to keep him still. Once the doctor was sure the threat had passed, she approached.

            “I’m going to check your fluid levels again. You’re not keeping them down long enough to circulate in your body, which may lead to damage and corrosion. I’m going to remove the chest plate again to directly add more fluids. You’re going to feel some discomfort.” All he could muster was a single nod. His head snapped back into Regan’s lap as she worked, both the doctor and Regan alternating between softly telling him he was doing a great job and that it would be over in a few minutes. Gritting his teeth, he focused on not vomiting as the doctor inserted several tubes and began pumping critical fluids back into him.

            “He’s keeping them down this time,” Regan proudly announced, but it was the last thing Francis heard before he passed out again.

~/~

            The hand stroking his cheek was hardly comforting, but Francis could not find it in him to ask Regan to stop. The tubes had finally been removed and he was told to take it easy for a few weeks.

            “Francis?” An affirmative hum encouraged Regan on. “Would you like to recuperate at my house? I will take a few days off to make sure you have everything you need while you recover.” Francis was keen enough to pick up on the hint of fear. _Without all the doctors, he’s worried the person who he thinks attacked me will come back. I might as well go. I’m doomed to that career anyway._ Agreeing quietly, Francis went to sit up, groaning as he tried to move for the first time in days.

            “Take it easy! Rest for a while longer while I pack you a bag and call a taxi.” Regan folded several sets of clothes, periodically asking Francis to stop trying to get himself out of bed. Not heeding the requests, Francis managed to get to his feet. There was still a lingering pain, but not nearly as bad as when his body tried to run on fumes. Regardless, Regan wrapped an arm around his waist, providing a steady support. The descent down the stairs was sluggish. At the bottom, Francis wanted nothing more than to collapse at Regan’s feet.

            “We’re almost there,” Regan encouraged him gently. Nodding, Francis stole himself to cross the short distance to the front door. Had the taxi parked another car length forward, Francis was sure he would not have made it. He tumbled inside the back seat, Regan helping him in.

            “Let me see if I can get the door to shut a little better,” Regan began heading back.

            “Just leave it. There’s nothing worth stealing.” Regan disregarded him with a sad smile, pulling at it until it almost latched. He returned to the backseat, lifting Francis’ head and shoulders back in his lap.

            “I was worried when you didn’t show up,” Regan murmured an hour into the ride. “You’re always so punctual, and I would have expected a message if something else had come up. I hope you don’t mind that I used some of my contacts to find your address.” _I should thank him for rescuing me from despair._ Instead, they were silent again, Regan running his fingers through Francis’ hair gently.

            The taxi took much longer than the train, and Francis knew he had blacked out a number of times before they arrived. The last time, Regan nudged him gently back into awareness.

            “We’re home. Let’s get you inside and in bed.” Coaxing and holding him up, Regan spent the next hour and a half pulling him up the stairs before he managed to tuck him into bed.

            “Do you need anything?” Regan posed, brushing a loose lock off of Francis’ forehead. Shaking his head, Francis sank deeper on the pillow.

            “I’m going to make a trip to the store to pick up some oil for you. I don’t have the kind I found at your house, and I didn’t realize that you consumed that quality. I mean, that we had different types.” _I’m too poor for that, Regan. You don’t have to be kind about it._ Regan stumbled over what he thought was a better explanation, finally giving up and asking Francis to text him if he should need anything while Regan was out.

            Francis was awoken a few hours later with a gentle kiss on his lips. In surprise, he called out for Scaramouche, but thankfully the name was slurred beyond recognition by being dragged from a deep recharge.

            “I’m sorry for waking you, but it’s been quite a while and you need to eat again.” Painfully, Francis sat himself up, still resigned to allowing Regan to feed him as he had the last two days.

            “You must be tired after the long drive. I may turn in early myself. Would you be more comfortable if I slept in the guestroom?”

            “You should sleep in your own bed. You won’t bother me.” _Be nice! Better tell him you want the company and want to personally thank him_. Yet, Francis could not bring himself to offer as little as a kiss. Regan cleaned up from the meal and returned a few minutes later, excusing himself to get ready for bed. There was an awkward sense of hesitance as Regan climbed into bed, not sure which distance would be appropriate for the night. After a great struggle, Francis rolled towards him, letting Regan settle into his arms for the night.

~/~

            “Francis?” _Are we done for the evening already?_  Francis acknowledged he heard him before he continued to plant kisses along Regan’s shoulders and throat. “I was wondering if you wanted to stay longer?” Francis had expressed over dinner that he intended to return to his home the next day since he finally felt well enough to travel on his own.

            “You’ve already been so hospitable. I don’t want to take advantage of you anymore than I already have.” _You’ve already missed so much work on my behalf._

            “No I … what I mean to say is …” Regan shivered in delight as Francis hands grazed along the attachment. “You’re … you’re welcome to stay … as long as you like, but … but I wanted to know if you wanted to move in?” Francis continued to kiss along the frame another few seconds before the words sank in.

            “To live with you?” He posed, sliding up to meet eye contact.

            “Yes!”

            “So you would hire me permanently?” Regan’s face fell as he realized he was not clear.

            “If you would like me too, I could, but I did not mean as an employee. I meant that …” he broke away from Francis’ inquiring expression. “There is no denying that you are by far the best I’ve ever hired. You go above and beyond what is expected, making sure that I am content, and knowing when I have had a trying day in the office. I feel so comfortable around you. I would very much enjoy your company. Of course, if you would prefer to keep it professional, I would be happy to, but I was hoping we could have a more personal relationship.”

            “Let me think about it,” Francis managed to spit out respectfully. _Even after you saw what a fraud I was, you still think you love me?_ Resuming his activities, Francis lowered himself back to Regan’s chest, quickly kissing his way down to his attachment. Taking the length into his mouth, he focused his attention on pleasuring Regan, ignoring the conflicting thoughts whirling in his head.

            His tongue worked the underside diligently. Regan purred his praise quietly, slipping easily into his sub personality as he thanked Francis as his mistress. Once the pleasure centers were activated, Francis bobbed his head. The tip of brushed against the back of his throat with each full motion. As usual, Regan held perfectly still as Francis worked. Francis did not need a warning, his hands resting on Regan’s hips and able to gage how close he was. Regan bucked once before the artificial fluids ran down Francis’ throat for the second time that evening.

            Regan did not push Francis to an answer to his previous inquiry, only complimenting him quietly before he finally brought himself to ask if Francis wanted him to return the favor. Denying the offer, Francis dressed in the new night shirt Regan had bought for him. He had allowed Regan to stroke him to orgasm the last two nights as Regan rocked into him gently, refusing to allow Francis to top for fear he would overwork himself.

            Regan cuddled into Francis arms and drifted off quickly, leaving Francis alone with his thoughts. _His offer to move in, regardless of our status, would be nice. For certain, I would never want for anything. There would be no bills, no hassle, and easy work._ He hugged Regan tighter, trying to force himself to feel anything for the robot other than greed.

 _I won’t ever be happy here_ , he realized painfully as the first few rays of sun light drifted through the window. _I would be forced to give up bounty hunting, I’m sure. He won’t be able to ever know the real me._ It was another hour before he felt Regan stir in his tight embrace.

            “You didn’t sleep at all, did you?” Regan frowned motherly. His thumb traced over Francis cheek a few times before Francis murmured.

            “My schedule is still a bit off kilter. It will readjust in another day or two.”

            “I didn’t upset you last night, did I?”

            “No, of course not,” Francis assured him, kissing his forehead to seal the lie. Francis repacked his bag as Regan prepared breakfast for them. He left it by the front door before he shuffled into the kitchen. Regan periodically stirred each of the two pots he had heating, passing Francis a small smile once he sat down.

            “I know you feel a lot better than you were when I brought you here, but I would be much obliged if you would take a taxi back to your house. Of course, I will cover the costs and—”

            “I will.” Regan looked like he wanted to say something else, but turned his attention back to the stovetop. They ate in silence, Francis able to keep pace now that Regan served him the lower quality oil.

            Regan called for a taxi once they finished and led Francis to the front door.

            “Thank you … for everything.” Francis opened his arms, hugging Regan tight as he stepped forward.

            “You are always welcome here,” Regan murmured into Francis’ shoulder. “When you’ve thought it over, let me know. And … if you want to keep it professional in the meantime…” Francis stepped back, nodding politely. Regan went to reach inside his jacket for his checkbook.

            “Let me pay you for—”

            “No.” Francis took Regan’s hand and pushed it back down to his side. “I cannot accept any payment. I am gravely indebted to you for saving me.” Regan sighed, but did not try to argue.

            “I insist that I must pay for your ride home, since I am requesting that you go via a different route.”

            “Okay. That’s fine, but not a dollar more.”

~/~

            He was too tired to let a million scenarios play out in his head. The front door had been replaced, yet left unlocked. Francis had seen the second vehicle in front of his house, but could hardly believe his eyes. Trembling hands managed to pay the driver as he stepped out of the cab. Without wasting another second, he pushed open the door and stepped inside.

            It only took a few steps to see the figure seated in the living room. They regarded each other for a few long minutes.

            “I thought I should come back to … fix your door, babe.”

            “Thank you,” the equally tense answer came.

            “The new key is on the kitchen table, babe.” Francis nodded. Again, neither spoke as Francis set his bag down.

            “I was going to come and fix the damage earlier, but … you had a guest, babe. I saw the doctors, too, and did not want to get in their way.”

            “I should have told you earlier,” Francis finally blurted out. The triangle eyes did not change enough for Francis to read them. Scaramouche only stood, heading towards the door.

            “You don’t … you don’t have to go,” Francis uttered quietly. “I want to talk with you.”

            “You’re exhausted. You should go to bed, babe.”

            “But in the morning,” Francis nearly begged, starting to feel sick as Scaramouche rested his hand on the doorknob. “I know I owe you an apology and an explanation. Please, will you humor me this last time? I won’t ask you to stay and I can’t ask you to forgive me, but I don’t want to part ways like this.” Scaramouche agreed with a word, instead locking the deadbolt. Without another word, he marched up the stairs, vanishing into the guest room and closing the door behind him. Francis swallowed down the bile, not wanting a repeat experience before he made his way to his own room.

            ‘I’m sorry,’ he texted Scaramouche’s phone. He held the phone, finally realizing his message went through when no error message appeared. Yet, an hour passed and there was no response, not even a command to go to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to Salacious Shipping for allowing me to borrow Francis! You can find more information about their artwork here (https://goo.gl/1t59on) and their Patreon here (https://www.patreon.com/ssnsfw/posts).


	17. More Bills to Pay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Francis tries to explain himself, and realizes how addicted to the money he had become.

**More Bills to Pay**

 

            Francis ate mechanically. He knew he was more likely than not going to regret it once they actually began talking, but it gave him a chance to stall a few more minutes while still in Scaramouche’s presence. He slept only a few hours, the rest of the night spent pacing his bedroom as he prepared for the inevitable departure of his friend.

            He took the empty bowls, gripping them tightly as he cleaned them. Once the faucet was turned off, the silence settled heavily.

            “I’m sorry that you had to find out this way,” Francis murmured, his back still to Scaramouche. With a hard swallow, he finally turned back, taking the seat across from Scaramouche. Scaramouche’s hands were clasped before him, his face set in a neutral expression.

            “You said you tried to tell me before, babe. How many times?”

            “It was so cryptic. I tried a few times and wanted to tell you so many other times.”

            “When, babe?” _What is he getting at?_ Francis gnawed his lower lip as he reflected on all the missed opportunities that could have prevented this in the first place.

            “The first time was when we went to the store the first week you were here, and you fended off Niles. Before I took the first … the first job, I called you to ask if any job was okay, but I knew you didn’t understand what I was hinting at. Then, when I overheard my trigger word, I wanted to tell you the reason, but it came out in French, and I couldn’t think straight afterwards. A few times during the two months you were away, I tried, but I was a coward. I could never bring myself to come right out and say it.”

            “How many …” Scaramouche trailed off, anger flashing briefly across his face.

            “Only one client after I met you,” Francis whispered as he lowered his head. “But we had multiple sessions.”

            “And you enjoyed it, babe?”

            “No. I hated it. I hated myself for doing it. At first I did it for the money because I had an emergency hospital bill the first time you left on a mission. I needed to have my hand fixed. Then, having the extra money to pay off some outstanding bills. He paid me more per day than I could make in a month of bounty hunting  by myself.” _Oh, Aku, I was addicted to earning so much no matter what the cost on my body was_.

            “You were with him when I was gone for two months, weren’t you, babe?” Francis nodded. “The whole time, babe?” Biting on his knuckled to keep the bile from spilling over his lips, he managed to nod again.

            “Please understand that this is what I was originally built for. For most of my life, I worked for my creator, servicing his clients and him. It’s the only thing I’m decent at. I don’t do it for any other reason than money. I don’t enjoy it. I tried to retire. I was … I hadn’t taken a job in five years when I put you back together. I never meant to go back.”

            “But you did! You could have asked me for money, babe. Told me to pay half the rent since I was staying here so often. Did it never cross your mind?”

            “I was going to charge you rent when you were recovering here. I thought about charging you money for pleasuring you the first time, although I realized later you had no idea I was a sex bot. I considered you a guest, a friend. It seemed wrong to ask you, especially since you were so good to me. You would always pay when we went out and you would get me gifts. You brought a joy to my life that had been missing since the day I was created. I couldn’t ask you to help me out anymore.”

            “It seems I’m not good enough for you, babe. Especially in the bedroom.”

            “Scaramouche,” Francis finally looked back up, using the back of his hand to wipe away the thin trails that he could no longer hold down. “You were too good and I was scared that one wrong move would drive you away. I was broke, a useless bounty hunter, and I was not worth enough to be honored by even your attention. I was worried that you would think I was using you.”

            “And sometimes,” Francis continued painfully, “I just wanted to have enough to do nice things for you. You would always send flowers, buy nice wine, and do all these things, and I could never do anything to thank you. I know, it was wrong, but I didn’t know any other way.” The eyes vanished on Scaramouche’s face as he processed the information.

            “I don’t know what to tell you, babe. I’m …”

            “Hurt. I know. I told you last night that I would not beg for your forgiveness, but I thought you should know. You deserved that much, and more.” Scaramouche nodded, finally standing up.

            “I need some space, babe. I’m going out for a while.”

~/~

            A hand slammed flat on the table, preventing him from picking up the envelope marked final notice.

            “I believe that’s mine, babe.” Scaramouche stared down, waiting for Francis to retreat.

            “It’s my hospital bill, Scaramouche,” Francis still attempted to slide it from beneath Scaramouche’s unyielding hand.

            “Yes, but had I not … but if it weren’t for me, you wouldn’t have it, right, babe? There would have been no reason to have them here.”

            “It’s alright—”

            “It’s the least I can do, babe.” The envelope was snatched from him, the top ripped open.

            “But, Scara—” Scaramouche held up one finger to silence him as he whipped out his phone. Swallowing down his protests, Francis frowned as Scaramouche proclaimed he was making a payment before reading out the bill number. He rattled off his personal account, bobbing his head from side to side as he waited for the transaction to go through.

            “It’s done, babe.”

            “You didn’t have to do that.”

            “It’s not fair for you to have to pay that, babe. It’s my fault.” Francis sighed, staring at the now empty table. He had been dreading the package, having put away the first two invoices without even looking at the amount. Yet, the alternative did not feel any better.

~/~

            “Are you still upset with me, babe?” Francis glanced over his shoulder.

            “Non. You did nothing wrong. Are you still mad at me?” Scaramouche refused him an answer, instead launching into another accusation.

            “You’re upset, babe.” _At least he’s a bit more observant_.

            “Not with you.” _Just with my existence._

            “Yeah?” Francis flinched as a nasty sneer crossed the assassin’s face. “I can’t see how you’re happy with me, babe.” He rolled away from Francis, making the gap between them even greater.

            “Listen, I’m sorry, Scaramouche. I should have told you earlier.” He tried apologizing again. They had not talked on the matter, only regarding each other’s presence with small talk.

            “Don’t apologize to me, babe,” he spat. “You tried to tell me, but I didn’t listen. I never fucking listen.” Having run out of bed to lay on, Scaramouche rolled to his feet, storming out. Francis wanted to call out, but he watched him go. _There was nothing to say anyway._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to Salacious Shipping for allowing me to borrow Francis! You can find more information about their artwork here (https://goo.gl/1t59on) and their Patreon here (https://www.patreon.com/ssnsfw/posts).


	18. Reasons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Francis cannot live in limbo, unsure of where he and Scaramouche are and asks to talk it out.

**Reasons**

 

            He returned home from another long day of bounty hunting alone. At least it had been slightly fruitful, leading to a small catch. There was still money saved up from the two month’s a Regan’s, so he was not worried for now. Still, a riskier foe would have been more satisfying, especially if he shared the catch.

            Scaramouche was not in the living room or kitchen. Francis climbed the stairs, seeing the guest bedroom door latched.

            “Scaramouche,” he knocked several times. “We need to talk.”

            “About _what_ , babe?” the scathing response came.

            “About us.” _And if you are through with me._ The door was whisked open.

            “What about us?” Francis forgot how cold Scaramouche could be. He waited for an invitation to come in and sit down, but none was granted.

            “I need to understand why you think I’m mad at you. Is it because of my … occupation? Because you think I’m cheating? What can I do to show you that I forgive you?”

            “I nearly fucking killed you, babe! Do you not understand?” _So that’s what’s bothering him. He cares too much about me for his own good._

            “You wouldn’t have been the first,” Francis stated. “And you didn’t mean it. I just … I shut down. I didn’t know what to do. I don’t know what to do.”

            “Go back to him. You make more money, babe.”

            “I don’t love him, if that’s what you think. Him, or any of them. I hate it. All of the clients and their sick needs. I wouldn’t have done it, but I’m not a bounty hunter. I’m not built for that.”

            “So, what do you even want with me, babe?” Scaramouche crossed his arms, standing a bit taller.

            “You’re my friend. You’re the only one that I like. I know you don’t think you’re good at sex, but that doesn’t matter. What matters is that … well, you used to like me for me. All that the clients want is sex. They don’t care who I am. You did.” Scaramouche just shook his head, turning away. Silently waiting, Francis leaned on the door frame. He took his time glancing about the room, noting that Scaramouche’s belongs were starting to be condensed.

            “I don’t think I’m right for you, babe. What if … what if I hurt you again?” He sat down heavily on the side before flopping on the bed, arms spread out helplessly. With a quick glance back at the door he added as an afterthought, “You can come in, babe. It’s your house.” Francis perched on the side next to him, resting a hand on the nearest leg.

            “I want to make this work out again,” Francis declared. Swallowing his apprehension at making the first move, he rolled on top of Scaramouche, head resting on Scaramouche’s chest. “I want to be with you.” _But what do you want?_

            After a few moments, Scaramouche reciprocated, wrapping his arms around Francis and gently stroking his hair.

            “What are you even getting from this? Me, I’ll tell you, babe, I’m getting the best sex of my life. And you? You’re just getting a 7 and a half foot headache.”

            “Mon Cher, it’s more than just the sex. I’ve never felt comfortable in my own body before I met you.”

            “Oh, please, babe, you’re beautiful! I don’t think I had anything to do with that.”

            “No one has taken the time to tell me. No one bothers to make sure that I’m okay unless it’s in their interest.” The arms around him tightened.

            “I’m scared I’ll hurt you. Or-or worse, babe! I’m an assassin. I’m not supposed to … to love. But, fuck it all, babe! I love you so much!”

            “I can’t believe you waited ten years to be with someone as fucked up as moi, Mon Cher.” _And here I am, sleeping with someone else less than a year in. You should have found someone better._ A hand slipped to Francis’ face, a thumb tracing along his cheek.

            “Francis, baby, I would have waited a hundred.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to Salacious Shipping for allowing me to borrow Francis! You can find more information about their artwork here (https://goo.gl/1t59on) and their Patreon here (https://www.patreon.com/ssnsfw/posts).


	19. Change of Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Francis is starting to have second thoughts about dating Scaramouche again. He has already hurt him once, and he does not want to do it again.

**Change of Heart**

 

            “Oh, babe, you still look tired! Go rest some more! I can keep myself entertained tonight,” Scaramouche smirked, quickly pecking Francis on the forehead before trying to turn him back to the stairs. Francis shook his head, worrying his lower lip with his teeth.

            “Are you hungry now? Do you want me to make you something, babe?” Another shake of his head.

            “Scaramouche … I don’t think we should keep seeing each other.” The taller robot drew back in surprise, confused at the suggestion.

            “But … but I thought you wanted to be with me, babe!”

            “I do,” Francis murmured to the ground, “Sometimes I think you’re the only reason I want to live, but I’m not good enough for you.”

            “What brought this on, babe? We were back to our old selves for the last week! Who told you that you weren’t good enough? They’re wrong, babe!” Francis shrugged out of the embrace, taking a few steps backwards.

            “I don’t know, Scaramouche. I’m just … They’re something wrong with me. Everything’s wrong with me. I can’t do that to you.”

            “Wrong? What do you mean, babe? There’s nothing wrong, unless you’re sick or something.”

            “Non!” Francis recoiled at his own shout. Recovering, he continued at a steadier tone. “You don’t understand. I’m a mistake. A fucking mistake! You should find someone better.”

            “Shh, Francis, baby. Come here.” Scaramouche backed away, opening his arms. Francis shuffled forward unwillingly, eyes still downcast. “What’s wrong, babe?”

            “Me! I’m what’s wrong.” He sobbed, finally allowing Scaramouche to wrap his arms around him. “I shouldn’t be with you because … because I’m a fucking mess. When you left, I just wanted to die. But that’s not fair to you!” He shouted into the coat, his frame shaking violently. “That’s not right. What if one day you realize the mistake you’ve made? You shouldn’t have to stay because you feel guilty that something will happen to me if you leave.”

            “I love you, babe. I don’t want to leave you. Who told you all these things?” Francis did not answer, forcing Scaramouche to prompt him a few more times. “Was it the person you said you killed?” Finally, Francis nodded.

            “Who was it, babe?”

            “My creator,” he whispered. Scaramouche pulled him tighter, gingerly leading him to the recliner. Guiding him into his lap, Scaramouche stroked his hair and back lovingly.

            “Did he try to tell you that you were a mistake, babe?”

            “He’s right.”

            “He’s a fucking liar, babe. You’re not a mistake. You’re not worthless.”

            “But I’m not built right, Scaramouche. And something’s really wrong. I can’t think right. I need help.”

            “What can I do to help, babe?” Scaramouche cooed.

            “Non! I need _help_.” Francis pulled away, his eyes wide as oil leaked down his chin. “I need help. I can’t do this. I can’t do this to you.”

            “Tomorrow, babe. First thing in the morning. We’ll go see someone, okay? I’ll be right by your side, babe. I think it’s too late tonight, babe.”

            “You don’t have to stay with me.”

            “Francis, I _want_ to be with you, babe. Come on. Let’s get you tucked in. You look exhausted, babe.”  Scaramouche stood up, effortlessly carrying Francis across the room and up the stairs.

            “I’m sorry I’m like this. I don’t mean to hurt you. I want what’s best for you, but I keep fucking it up!”

            “I want what’s best for _us_ , babe. It’s alright. It’s going to be alright, babe.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to Salacious Shipping for allowing me to borrow Francis! You can find more information about their artwork here (https://goo.gl/1t59on) and their Patreon here (https://www.patreon.com/ssnsfw/posts).


	20. Praise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scaramouche wants to try something different in bed, but it does not quite suit Francis' tastes.

**Praise**

           

            “Hey, babe?” Scaramouche received a hum in response, Francis’ face buried in the scarf as he snuggled close. “Are you too tired from therapy?”

            “No. What would you like to do, Mon Cher?”

            “Well, I’d like to try something different tonight, babe, if that’s alright with you. I want you to listen to me.” _So he wants me to be a sub? After all he’s done for me, I’d be glad to._

            “I’m yours to command.” Scaramouche nudged him away, easing him onto his back. The purple coat was shrugged off, followed by his scarf before he straddled Francis’ hips. The fleeting kisses lasted just long enough for Scaramouche to unbutton his vest and shirt.

            “You’re so handsome, babe.” One lingering kiss was pressed to his lips before Scaramouche sat him up to strip off the garments. He moved off to the side so that he could undo and pull off Francis’ pants. “The most gorgeous robot in the world.”  Francis let out a small chuckle as Scaramouche straddled his stomach.

            “You’re exaggerating just a bit, don’t you think Mon Cher?” Leaning forwards, Scaramouche pressed a finger to Francis’ lips.

            “Just listen, babe. Don’t deny me.” His voice was gentle, so Francis sighed and agreed to the conditions.

            “Is there … something you want me to do?”

            “I’ll take care of it, baby.” The long fingers glided over Francis’ cheeks, slipping into his hair. Scaramouche combed through the locks gently, careful not to jerk any tangles he came across.

            “Your hair’s so pretty, babe. It looks so good on you.” _Merely a good place to grab, Mon Cher._ “And your eyes are so warm and inviting.” _It wouldn’t do to chase a client away, would it?_

            “And I suppose my mouth is good for some oral sex, hm?” Francis managed to hold in another hesitant chuckle, sporting a lopsided grin instead.

            “Mostly for tender kisses, babe.” A quick peck on the nose led to a longer kiss once Scaramouche locked lips with him. Scaramouche’s tongue writhed for a moment, pulling Francis’ into his mouth after he obtained control. After a few minutes, Scaramouche broke it off, touching his lips along Francis’ jaw.

            “Plus, it’s so nice to hear your voice, baby. Smooth, rich, deep. So gorgeous, babe, especially when you sing along to my medleys.”

            “I think you’re just starting to make things up, Mon Cher,” Francis chided quietly. The lips grazing along his shoulders came back to shush him.

            “You’re not supposed to deny me. Remember, babe?” The quick apology was rewarded with an equally quick kiss. Scaramouche was making his way down Francis’ left arm. Lips were pressed to the metal every few inches until he reached the wrist. Sitting a little taller, Scaramouche pulled the hand up, as if examining it. He kissed the inside of the wrist before nuzzling into the palm.

            “The hand of a good swordsman, babe,” he murmured. “It’s brought so many bounties to their demise.” Turn the hand palm down, he kissed each knuckled before laying it to rest on the bed at Francis’ side once more. He did the reverse with the right hand, treating each finger to his love before holding it palm up.

            “This hand equally quick and powerful, handling both the sword and dagger when necessary. Yet, it can sew and mend. It saved me, babe.” Working his way back up the arm, he crossed to the junction right below Francis’ neck, purring more compliments as he made his way down the center of his body. A shudder jolted through Francis’ body as Scaramouche dipped his tongue in the indent in his stomach. _Are you getting down to business now? I don’t understand what you want from me._ Francis could not help his curiosity. Raising himself a few inches, he watched where the tongue was heading. His attachment and skills in bed were briefly praised, but Scaramouche had backed himself away, kissing Francis’ thigh in between his words. The wet patches on the sheets and lingering drops on his stomach confused him.

            _He’s dripping wet but not even touching himself? Is the anticipation of sex enough for him?_ Scaramouche had just reached Francis’ left ankle when he sat up completely and swung his legs off to the side of the bed.

            “I don’t want to do this anymore,” Francis uttered, fighting the impulse to turn his back on the hurt expression.

            “Did … did I hurt you, babe? Is something wrong?”

            “No, you didn’t. I just … I don’t like this. They’re mostly exaggerations anyway.” Unable to stand the sadness, he stood, pulling the sheets back so he could climb under them. He thought better, and stole a glance back up.

            “Did you want to have sex, Mon Cher?” Scaramouche shook his head, prompting Francis to slide under the covers and face away from the rest bed. The sheets were tugged a bit as Francis assumed Scaramouche was getting onto the bed. His whole frame tensed as the metal arms wrapped around his body. Scaramouche froze as well.

            “I didn’t expect you to get under the covers,” Francis stated quietly. Scaramouche typically slept on top of the sheets, seeing no need to wrap himself in anything while he recharged.

            “I’m sorry, babe. I just wanted to hold you and make sure you’re okay. How come you sleep under the covers sometimes?”

            “It makes me feel safe.” He felt stupid admitting the reason, but he did not want to lie to Scaramouche anymore. “Sometimes it acts as an extra layer of protection, especially in my old job. It’s something else they have to get through to get to me, and sometimes they’re too tired or drunk to bother.” The arms retracted quickly.

            “Do you want me to go back to my room tonight, babe?” _Great. I’ve made him feel even worse. What a talent to possess!_

            “No, Mon Cher. I just … I’m sorry.” Finally rolling to his other side, he lowered the sheet to the middle of his chest, beckoning Scaramouche to come back. Once wrapped in a loving embrace, he spoke again. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Thank you for tonight. I just …” He trailed off hopelessly, his plates rattling as he trembled. The arms tightened around him, the legs coming up to complete the protective embrace.

            “I love you, baby.”

            “I love you, too. I’m sorry I’m so messed up.”

            “It’s okay. I love you no matter what, babe!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to Salacious Shipping for allowing me to borrow Francis! You can find more information about their artwork here (https://goo.gl/1t59on) and their Patreon here (https://www.patreon.com/ssnsfw/posts).


	21. Apologies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Francis finally musters up the courage to explain the situation to Regan.

**Apologies**

 

            “You have to call him, babe.” Francis nodded. Scaramouche continued to hug him tightly, only relaxing his grip when Francis reached into his pocket. As he dialed, Francis rested his head against Scaramouche’s chest, trying to stop shaking.

            “I’ll help you repay all of it, babe,” Scaramouche reminded him gently as the phone resting in Francis’ lap began to ring.

            “Regan, it’s Francis,” Francis interrupted the professional greeting.

            “How are doing, Francis? Are you well?”

            “Is it a good time to speak to you? I need to talk to you about working for you.” Francis posed. A hand had come up to stroke his exposed cheek, but Francis was not reassured in the least, fighting to keep the foul oil down.

            “Yes, but Francis,” there was a sigh on the other end of the line. “I’m not sure I should hire you at the moment. It’s only been a few weeks, and I think you need more time to recover. I know I had said I would be more than willing to hire you again, but I’m worried about your health. ”

            “Thank you, but that’s not exactly what I mean.” Francis tore at his pockets until he found a cloth, shaky fingers dabbing at his lips. “I’m not the high class sex bot you thought I was. You should not have paid me more than $1,000 a night. Truthfully, I had retired and Scaramouche …” his voice quit on him as he squeezed his eyes shut.

            “He wasn’t hiring me. We were … we were … together. I was in a horrible state of mind working for you. The sickness, the pain, the exhaustion, it was all because I hated myself for what I was doing. Every day went against my beliefs.”

            “And I know you’re falling in love with me,” Francis continued, his free hand crushing Scaramouche’s as he forced himself on. “I’m sorry. I don’t love you. I was just playing the role because I was too weak to turn down such an opportunity. Truly, I’m sorry to have put your through everything. I’m getting help now. Let me return your money so that we can call the debt even.” There was a deafening silence as the oil continued to leak from his mouth.

            “I hired you to do a job, which you did. In all sincerity, you were often worth more than what I usually pay. There is no debt you need to repay me.”

            “But, at least some of it,” Francis pressed on, his eyes shooting open at Regan’s statement.

            “I will not accept a refund of any sort.” No one spoke.

            “I hope that your continued recovery is smooth. Please let me know if there is anything I can do to help.” Francis bid him a farewell, ending the call before he knocked his phone to the floor as he vomited harshly. Scaramouche drew out a cloth from his own coat, helping to catch the mess.

            “Are you alright, babe?” Francis shook his head, rotating a quarter turn so that he faced Scaramouche completely.

            “He doesn’t want anything back!” he wailed, pressing as tight as he could to Scaramouche and wrapping his arms around his waist.

            “Because … because he said you were better than his usuals, babe!” Scaramouche insisted awkwardly.

            “I don’t understand why he’s so kind. Or why you’re so patient and loyal! I don’t deserve any of this!” Francis sobbed into Scaramouche’s coat. A gentle hand came up to his head, holding him tightly in place as Scaramouche kissed the top of his head.

            “Baby, you deserve so many more good things in life,” Scaramouche shushed him. As he stroked Francis’ hair and rocked him gently, another thought struck.

            “Why don’t you repay him what he paid you for the days that he came and took care of you, babe? That would be fair, right? It’d be like thanking him for his time, babe.” Francis nodded, his death grip unrelenting.

            “You’re right,” he finally whispered. “I want to use my money, though.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to Salacious Shipping for allowing me to borrow Francis! You can find more information about their artwork here (https://goo.gl/1t59on) and their Patreon here (https://www.patreon.com/ssnsfw/posts).


	22. Learn to Do It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Knowing that Scaramouche feels a bit insecure with his own skills in bed, Francis offers to teach him a couple of things he had learned.

**Learn to Do It**

 

            “The check was returned.” The further greeting died on Scaramouche’s lips as he studied the small pile of papers on the kitchen table.

            “The check? Oh, I see, babe.”  Scaramouche dragged a chair next to Francis. Folding the handwritten letter, Francis pushed the note and his voided check away.

            “You did what you could, babe.” A long kiss was pressed to Francis’ nearest temple as an arm wrapped around his back.

            “I know, Mon Cher. I just … I hurt you both so bad. I want to make it right.”

            “I’ve forgiven you, babe. I think he has, too.” No longer content with the half hug, Scaramouche pulled Francis into his lap, wrapping him in a tight embrace.

            “I also added you to my health insurance plan today, babe. Consider it an Activation day present since you refuse to tell me when it is and won’t let me pay half the rent.”

            “Thanks,” Francis uttered meekly. “Listen, if you want to read Regan’s note, you can. There’s nothing … it’s just formalities.”

            “It’s alright, babe. I trust you.” Francis could not help his cringe. The gentle hands on his back lulled him back into a sense of comfort as they sat in silence.

            “Mon Cher, I know you’re worried about you skills in bed. You’re the best partner I’ve ever had, but I could teach you some techniques if you want.”

            “Really? You’d teach me, babe?”

            “Of course.”

            “Can we start right now, babe?” Francis felt a smile tug at his lips at Scaramouche’s enthusiasm.

            “Sure. Let’s go upstairs though. It’ll be more comfortable.” Nearly pulled up the stairs, Francis stumbled into the master bedroom a few steps behind his eager companion. He draped his shirt and vest on his desk chair as Scaramouche shed his boots and coat. They each climbed on the bed, sitting facing each other.

            “Let’s start with the basics. As you know, every robot with sex capability has pleasure centers, so we’ll go over those first.”

            “How many do I have, baby?”

            "You have five," Francis answered with a smile.

            "Is that normal, babe?" Francis shrugged, considering it for a moment.

            "I think the average is three or four. I have seen my share of people with five."

            "How many do you have, baby?"

            "Two." Scaramouche seemed perplexed at the information, although not sure how to express his concerns. Francis passed him a reassuring smile as he sat between Scaramouche's legs. "It only means that you have a higher sensitivity and likelihood of one or more pleasure centers getting activated during sex. Having less does not mean that I enjoy it any less."  _And why you orgasm faster, but part of that is my fault._

            "Do you know where yours are, Mon Cher?" Francis posed gently. Yet, Francis would bet he could only place one, maybe two at best. If their sessions had taught him anything, it was Scaramouche tended to be fast and frantic, which would provide enough stimulation regardless of whether the pleasure centers were activated. Scaramouche shook his head rather sheepishly.

            "Here, I will show you where they are, but I'm not going to do a full activation. Of course you know about the external one. The first internal one is right inside the rim on the top of your tract." Francis prodded it quickly with his finger. Scaramouche let out a short purr of delight, trying to grind back on Francis hand. "I know, it's not comfortable for you to wait like this, but I want to show you all the locations first."

            "Alright, babe," his voice shuttered before he went on. "But you'll have to forgive me if I start leaking on you! I didn't know learning would feel so good!" Francis pointed out the other three pleasure centers, having to remove his finger after each one even with the gentle touch. His hand came away wet after the second one.

            "Now I want you to pick one and apply pressure to it. Really pay attention to how it feels when you find it and for the amount of time you work the area." Scaramouche traced his external pleasure center with his thumb, purring as he started rubbing more vigorously. After fifteen seconds he moved his hand away.

            "I want you to see one more thing, but please stop if it hurts at all! Pleasure centers cannot be focused on for too long, which I assume you felt since you stopped, but press on it just a bit longer so you understand why. Be gentle though, because I know it is uncomfortable." Scaramouche did as he was told, massaging his clitoris for another fifteen seconds. Francis could tell immediately he had felt the change, watching as the pleased grin melted away and he began to fidget.

            "It's not pleasant, babe!" Scaramouche frowned, still shifting his weight.

            "I know, I'm sorry. I just want  you to know what happens if you focus too long on one area. You did great, though. Let me reward you." Francis flattened out on his stomach, Scaramouche immediately falling back onto his arms so that he could give Francis the best angle. The tongue slipped inside of the port, activating the first pleasure center with precision. Francis found the next one in one swipe of his tongue, pressing against it for a few seconds. It only took a few minutes of brushing against the inside of the tract before Scaramouche shouted in delight, filling Francis' mouth with fluids as he came.

            "Show me where yours are, babe, so I can do that!"

            "I want you to learn how to find them, Mon Cher."

            "Can I do it with my tongue, babe?"

            "Of course." Francis slid back and offered himself to Scaramouche. He leaned back on his own arms, still sitting up enough to watch Scaramouche's technique. "To find them, you have to go slow and listen. You'll know you've found them because they'll be a slight hitch in my voice if I'm speaking or a soft moan. It's quiet, so pay attention." Scaramouche practically threw himself between Francis' spread legs. He took the entire length into his mouth, his tongue trailing long lines from the base to the tip as he searched. After one stroke, his tongue would shift half a centimeter clockwise as he worked his way around the attachment. Sad eyes met Francis' after two full rotations.

            “You have hit them both,” Francis assured him, stretching forward to stroke the top of Scaramouche’s head. “I should have told you they were … in less than ideal locations. Finding them for the first time is always the hardest.”

            “You knew where all of mine were the first time we slept together, didn’t you, babe? And you’ve never had to ask.”

            “I’ve had more practice, Mon Cher. Why don’t you try again? Move slower and linger longer. Try working in one location rather than moving from the seam to the tip. I know you will succeed.” Scaramouche sighed, but lowered his head again. He focused on the head of the attachment to start. His tongue prodded the very tip for a while before he worked his way to the underside. Francis was pleased that Scaramouche listened to the advice. Still working clockwise, Scaramouche eventually made it back to the top of the attachment. His tongue found the location.

            Francis let out an involuntary hum of approval, letting a larger smile tug at his lips. Scaramouche’s head shot back, eyes wide with anticipation.

            “Was that it, babe? Did I find it?”

            “Oui. I knew you would,” Francis smiled, trying not to chuckle at the enthusiasm. It had been so long since he had first learned the skill that he forgot the satisfaction of learning. _It had been short lived, as once I knew how, I was expected to do so instantly. The joy faded quickly for me, but for Scaramouche, it will be a lifelong skill once he decides to find someone else._ At the last thought, Francis shook his head to rid himself of the idea, his actions not heeded by Scaramouche as he worked to activate the center. It had taken him a few seconds to find the exact location again, but once he did, there was no stopping him.

            Even Francis’ gentle fidgeting did not deter him. Sitting back up, he tilted Scaramouche’s chin up. A look of pure horror flashed on his visor.

            “Oh, baby! I’m sorry! I forgot and –”

            “It’s alright. It’s just a little uncomfortable for me. You’ll learn how to judge when to move on. Why don’t you try to find the other one?” Spirits renewed by finding the first one, Scaramouche went back to work. It had taken him nearly an hour of searching before he found the second one on the underside of Francis’ attachment towards the base.

            Scaramouche heard the slight noise and worked the area for a while. Once Francis shifted two or three times in discomfort, he stopped.

            “Now what, babe? Can I activate the first one again and suck you off?”

            “Sure,” Francis managed to get out, his voice quivering. Scaramouche only worked the pleasure centers, reactivating the first one and lingering for a few seconds before he went back to the second one. _I’ll tell him he can work the whole attachment later. I can hardly speak now!_

            “S-Scara, c-c-cumming!” The warning did not give Scaramouche much time, but that hardly fazed him. His eyes glowed a degree brighter after he swallowed the fluid.

             “Do you want to go again, babe?” Scaramouche had already lowered himself back the second the question was out of his mouth. Francis rolled to his side, preventing Scaramouche from diving into round two.

            “Not tonight, Mon Cher. That was quite a treat, though. It’s been a long time since I’ve had both pleasure centers activated like that. It was a lot for my system.”

            “Don’t you hit both when you’re taking care of business, babe?” Scaramouche climbed on top of Francis. Instead of answering, he pulled him close for a kiss.

            “I’ll teach you more later. Let me finger you again and then we’ll call it a night.” Scaramouche had no complaints.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to Salacious Shipping for allowing me to borrow Francis! You can find more information about their artwork here (https://goo.gl/1t59on) and their Patreon here (https://www.patreon.com/ssnsfw/posts).


	23. Activation Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scaramouche only needs a bit of information from Francis and he's willing to do almost anything it takes to get it.

**Activation Day**

 

            “When are you going to tell me, babe?” His full weight rested heavily on Francis, leaving him pinned to the bed.

            “Never!” Francis jerked his body side to side. He managed to free one arm, pulling Scaramouche’s head close enough to kiss underneath his jaw. After a few kisses, Scaramouche denied him the right, pulling his head away and recapturing the loose arm.

            “But I want to know, babe!” He whined. “How am I supposed to celebrate if you won’t tell me?”

            “I just want to spend the day with you, Mon Amour. Besides, I’ve never celebrated. Why make it a habit now?”

            “Because it’s fun, baby,” Scaramouche pouted at the continued refusal on Francis’ part. “It’s been over two years. Why won’t you tell me?”

            “I don’t need a day when every day I spend with you feels like what an Activation Day should be like.”

            “You celebrate mine! You’re horrible, babe. Absolutely, positively horrible.” Francis could not help a smirk at the juvenile whining. The eyes above him narrowed.

            “You know what I’m going to do to you, babe?”

            “No. What are you going to do?”

            “Nothing, baby.” Francis’ eyebrow arched up as he studied the suddenly devious expression.

            “What do you mean?”

            “I’m going to sit here,” Scaramouche announced proudly, “Until you tell me. No sex, no food, no sleep, nothing. I will do absolutely nothing until you tell me, babe, and so will you.”

            “Do you really think you can wait me out, Mon Amour?” He gave a final thrash, knowing he was powerless to move. “But why would you want to when you could have my tongue dancing inside you … or better yet, me?” The jaw above him twitched, but not another word was spoken. Abandoning his attempts at escape, Francis allowed his body to relax. He kept a small smile plastered to his face despite the intense glare from his companion. The wait lasted fifteen minutes.

            “Just tell me, babe!”

            “Is someone getting antsy?” _He did make it a lot longer than I expected_.

            “What do I have to do find out? I’ll do anything, babe!”

            “Out last me, Mon Amour,” Francis smirked. “We’ll kneel facing each other and finger fuck the other until one of us can go no longer.”

            “But that’s not fair, babe! You know you’re better than me and you have more endurance! Plus, you haven’t taught me how to give a better hand job yet.”

            “I’ve shown you where my pleasure centers are, and I taught you how to activate them. That’s all you need to know. The rest is on your patience and determination.”

            “Pick something else, babe. Something I can do!”

            “This is my final offer.” Francis bit his tongue to keep from laughing as Scaramouche mulled over the proposition with a scowl.

            “Fine,” Scaramouche finally grunted, rolling off of Francis. “But you don’t get to speak, babe. And you can only use your left hand!”

            “Does my voice turn you on that much?” Francis purred, unbuttoning his shirt once Scaramouche had rolled off of him. Scaramouche huffed in response, shrugging out of his own coat. Fully undressed, they moved into position. Francis wrapped his right arm around Scaramouche’s back, insisting it was for balance and that Scaramouche was allowed to do the same. He waited for fingers to frantically stroke his attachment before he got started.

            Scaramouche let out a shuttering purr the moment Francis sank two fingers up inside of him. The fingers on Francis’ attachment faltered as Francis pressed against one pleasure center. As promised, Francis did not utter a word as he felt the fluids begin to drip over his fingers. Instead, he hummed his approval as Scaramouche took the hint and began working the pleasure center near the tip of his attachment.

            _Too bad for you, Mon Amour, I’m almost as good with my left hand as I am my right. You won’t have much of an advantage, if any._ Francis thumb traced over the external pleasure center a few times, activating it before Scaramouche could work Francis’ other pleasure center. Unable to continue for the moment, both of Scaramouche’s hands came up around Francis’ head, pulling him tight against his chest. Hips thrusted into Francis fingers. Francis could tell Scaramouche did not want to admit he was orgasming already, but the moans of pleasure escaped his locked jaw.

            “Th-that’s n-not fair, babe! You can’t just … _ah!_ Just keep thrusting them.” Scaramouche managed to stroke Francis a few more times as his second orgasm approached rapidly. Francis gritted his teeth as Scaramouche squeezed his attachment too tightly as he came again five minutes later. Taking some pity, he helped Scaramouche by thrusting into the fist. The fingers exploring Scaramouche’s port slowed, trailing along the sides where Francis knew he would not activate the pleasure centers. Closing his eyes, he forced himself to focus on what Scaramouche was doing with his hands, feeling the pleasure build in his own frame.

            Clawing at Scaramouche’s back, he held tight as the thrusted harder. His fluid sprayed across Scaramouche’s arm and legs. The boasts coming from Scaramouche were cut short as Francis quickly activated three pleasure centers in succession, causing him to nearly knock Francis backwards as he leaned into him. _Sorry, Mon Amour. Cumming once was a freebie. You’ll have to work hard for the rest._ Still, Scaramouche pressed on. He managed to reactivate one pleasure center and provide a few hearty strokes before Francis drew one last orgasm from him.

            “Alright, you win, babe,” he sighed, pitching forward, barely held up by Francis. Francis withdrew his fingers, planting kisses on Scaramouche’s head.

            “You went a long time, Mon Amour,” Francis murmured proudly. “It’s three weeks from next Thursday.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to Salacious Shipping for allowing me to borrow Francis! You can find more information about their artwork here (https://goo.gl/1t59on) and their Patreon here (https://www.patreon.com/ssnsfw/posts).


	24. Worst Gift

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scaramouche has known for a while that Francis can't feel pleasure in his ports, so he offers to pay to have them fixed as a gift.

**Worst Gift**

 

            “Babe! I’ll cover all the expenses and the consultation’s free! What have you got to lose, baby?” _I don’t have anything to gain._

            “Really, Mon Amour, you don’t have to do this. I can get along just fine.”

            “But think of how much better it will be, babe!” Letting Scaramouche press kisses all over his head, he considered the proposition a bit longer. _A free consultation can’t hurt. It would be nice to have a normal functioning port and perhaps the ability to pleasure myself. I don’t think it will work, but then again…_

            “Alright, we can go.”

~/~

            Clinging tightly to his companion, he almost thanked any deity that would listen when they finally skidded to a stop in front of his home. Scaramouche dismounted, storming towards the front door.

            “I’m sorry.” It was weak, having been silent since they left three hours ago. The scowl plastered on Scaramouche’s face hurt worse than the news he had expected.

            “Why. Would. He. Do. That?” Francis could tell Scaramouche wanted nothing more than to punch holes in the wall between each word, restraint evident in his shaking fists. Stomping further into the house, Francis could do nothing but follow helplessly. The living room chair groaned at the sudden weight dropped on it.

            “Don’t be mad,” Francis whimpered, crawling into his lap. “I’m sorry.” The arms wrapped around him tightly as Francis nuzzled into his chest. Pulling away after a few moments of silence, Francis saw the trembling jaw. His faltering reassuring smile did nothing for Scaramouche.

            “Oh, babe!” he sobbed. “I just wanted you to be happy!”

            “I am, with you, Mon Amour.” The arms pulled him uncomfortably tight again as Scaramouche rested his chin on top of Francis’ head. “I’ve always been like this.”

            “It’s not fair, babe! It’s not right!”

            “It’s alright.” _I’ve always been built wrong._ The specialist had confirmed what Francis had been nearly sure of all along: he couldn’t be fixed. It was more of a matter of incorrect programming and embedded coding rather than just adding pleasure centers to his port. Of course, more information had come out that he had not planned to tell Scaramouche yet.

            “Babe, I didn’t know you couldn’t pleasure yourself either! And I’ve been teasing you – TAUNTING you – by doing it myself for years!” Scaramouche had since learned not to ask why Francis had not told him, having talked at length before that Francis hated making others pity him. Yet, the unspoken question lingered.

            “It doesn’t bother me if you masturbate in my presence. Really, it helps put me in the mood to see you fingering yourself and moaning my name.” _It’s so genuine with you._

            “Does it … hurt when we –”

            “Non! Non, you’ve never hurt me in bed. I can feel pleasure as long as someone else is doing it. If I were to stroke myself, I get aroused, but can’t finish, so it ends up morphing into pain. Besides, with you around, I don’t ever have to worry about it.” A hand came up, stroking his exposed cheek tenderly.

            “This is probably the worst Activation day gift ever, huh, babe?”

            “I got to spend it with you, Mon Amour. That’s all I could ever want.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to Salacious Shipping for allowing me to borrow Francis! You can find more information about their artwork here (https://goo.gl/1t59on) and their Patreon here (https://www.patreon.com/ssnsfw/posts).


	25. Party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Francis learns Scaramouche is not a bounty hunter like himself, but the highest ranking assassin in Aku's army when Scaramouche invites him to the annual ball.

**Party**

 

            “Come on, babe! It’ll be fun, I promise!” Scaramouche gripped both of his hands tightly, a broad grin stretched across his face.

            “Mon Amour, I don’t know if we should go,” he trailed off.

            “Why not, babe? There’s going to be entertainment, food, and that fancy pink shit you like.”

            “It’s rosé, you uncultured swine,” he teased before growing serious, “and I don’t think it would be good company, especially for me.”

            “So you’re a mercenary. Big deal, babe. I’ve knocked off my fair share, ‘cause they deserved it. There’s not a bounty on you, and no one’s going to know you.”

            “But what if we just don’t go?”

            “It won’t look good on me, babe.”

            “Why not?”

            “What’s Aku gonna think when his favorite assassin doesn’t show up? He’ll replace me at the top of the list with some other low life, babe. Demongo keeps trying to make a move, but that washed up has been couldn’t even lay a finger on me. So come on, babe! What do you say?”

            Francis said nothing. His life suddenly made a lot more sense.

~/~

            _Why didn’t I see the signs earlier? Interest from richer clients, all the fame Scaramouche had …And it was all right in front of me! He knows I’m a traitor, too._

            “Are you still awake, babe?” Scaramouche nuzzled into the top of Francis’ head.

            “Oui,” came the quiet response.

            “Listen, babe. You don’t have to go if you don’t want to. I don’t want you to be stressed about it. I was just being selfish and wanted some company, baby.” _But he hid it so well. He’d go with me, seeking those on his own side. Was it really because he just thought they were jerks?_

            “We can go,” Francis resolved finally, holding tight to Scaramouche’s waist.

            “I’m going to get you a fancy new outfit tomorrow,” Scaramouche purred sleepily. “It’ll be so _hard_ for me not to be aroused all day, babe.”

~/~

            Every five or so strokes of the brush, Scaramouche would plant a kiss on the top or side of his head. Francis sat stiffly, hands gripping his own wrists to keep from fidgeting. _An hour, and we’ll be on our way. I shouldn’t be here_. _I don’t even know what I’m going to be wearing!_

            “Relax, babe. I won’t let a soul bother you! It’s supposed to be fun.”

            “Can I see my outfit, Mon Amour?”

            “Mm-hm. Just let me finish your hair, babe.” He could make out Scaramouche’s intense look of focus on the reflection of the tv screen as he began working on a French braid.

            “Perfect! Do you want me to suck you off again, babe? Help ease some more tension?” His fingers walked down Francis’ bare chest.

            “I’m fine, Mon Amour.” _You’ve improved, but my nerves are too shot._

            “Alright, babe, if you say so. Close your eyes!”

            “Scaramouche!” he whined.

            “You’ll love it, babe! I promise. And don’t worry, it’s modest.” With a groan, Francis complied. Scaramouche pried his hands apart, guiding his arms into the sleeves. The motion was repeated two more times as Francis felt Scaramouche work the buttons in between the layers of clothing. The hands trailed around his neck.

            “Alright, stand up, babe. No peeking!” Francis held too tightly to Scaramouche’s shoulder as he leaned on him to keep his balance as Scaramouche pulled on the pants.

            “Oh, Aku! I’m not going to be able to keep my hands off myself, babe,” Scaramouche rewarded Francis with a deep kiss on the lips. “Eyes closed until I get you in front of the mirror, babe.” The arms around his shoulder guided him slowly across the room.

            “Okay! You can look, babe,” Scaramouche kissed his cheek again.

            The abundance of red assaulted his eyes. Unlike his black vest with a hint of red, the whole suit jacket was a bright red with black lapels. The white shirt was a perfect fit, clasped as his wrists with silver cuff links. The top half was finished with a sleek black vest and tie. Scaramouche had opted for black pants, custom fit.

            “Mon Amour,” he gasped, running his fingers down the material. _So nice … and so expensive._

            “You look so good, babe,” the purr was quiet. Francis could not help by smirk as he watched as the reflection behind him began to finger himself.

            “Is this why you wanted to dress me first, Mon Amour?” He turned, placing one hand on his hip.

            “Francis, baby, yesss!” Falling on the bed, he spread his legs wide, allowing him to reach deeper.

            “Did you want me to model? Although I’d _hate_ for you to blow a circuit before we even get there.”

            “Ooh, babe, do this all evening, and I’ll just be a sopping mess.”

            “From the looks of it, you already are, Mon Amour,” Francis purred. He held up his arms, pulling the sleeves down slightly, seductively. “Perhaps I can lend you a hand.” Each step forward was slow and sauntering. He approached slowly, trailing his fingers up Scaramouche’s trembling legs. Two fingers slid in above Scaramouche’s fingers, and he prodded expertly, activating the pleasure centers as Scaramouche let out quickened gasps of pleasure. It was not long before Scaramouche came, yelling Francis’ name as his head snapped back into the bed as his back arched.

            “Do we have time for another round?” Francis purred, already reactivating the centers as he trusted into the port.

            “Always, babe,” Scaramouche gasped, removing his own fingers so Francis could move easier. “Oh, babe! Francis, baby, you don’t know how amazing you are!” Francis had just started to trace the clit when Scaramouche surprised him, cumming hard with only the light touches.

            “I’m gonna have to get cleaned up, babe,” Scaramouche groaned, body thrusting involuntarily towards Francis at the absence of his fingers. “But I could do that all night.” Scaramouche took his own outfit and locked himself in the bathroom.

            Francis beamed. The idea of someone masturbating to him turned him on, but he had not realized how much Scaramouche really thought about him when pleasuring himself. _Two orgasms in the span of less than five minutes? That’s pretty remarkable, especially with only fingers._

~/~

            The euphoria for Francis had worn off well before they reached the door. They kept up the banter for half of the taxi ride, but Francis had fallen silent as they neared, gripping Scaramouche’s right hand tightly. Scaramouche’s thumb traced over the fingers in his grasp.

            “You can ride back to the hotel if you want, babe.” Francis shook his head, unwilling to answer as the idea was too tempting. “I’ll be by your side pretty much the whole time. Try and have some fun, babe! You’re always working too hard.” _I’m a traitor. I’m a traitor and a sex bot and everyone will know it._ _I don’t know how to act or what to say._ He was so lost in thought, he was taken by surprise when they arrived. Swallowing down the fear he could, he went to let himself out.

            “Stay there, babe. You’re my date!” Scaramouche wore the largest reassuring smile he could muster, letting himself out and coming around to Francis’ side. He opened the door with a graceful bow, offering his right arm when Francis stood up. Francis clung to him, knowing he was probably wrinkling the sleeve, but it was the only way he would be able to walk up to the building. A quick look over his shoulder brought another wave of fear as their ride drove off.

            “We just have to stay a few hours. Well,  I do at least. You can leave any time you want, alright, Francis, baby?” Another forced nod was all the answer Scaramouche received. At the door, Scaramouche was admitted with only a leery glance towards his companion.  

            _There’s too many people here._ Francis let Scaramouche drag him around, introducing him to some of his closer acquaintances. They each regarded him in distaste, asking with a smirk what he did. Scaramouche bragged about his bounty hunting before changing the subject to what he had been up to, allowing Francis to skate by the first half of the party barely uttering a word. He dared not let go of his arm.

            “Here you go, babe!” Scaramouche thrust a glass of rosé into his hand before taking one for himself. “Cheers!” For a moment, they were not engaged with another group.

            “How are you doing, Francis, baby? Having fun?” _I want to go home._

            “It’s fine … just, a little … too much for my tastes.”

            “Let’s stay a little while longer, then we’ll call it a night. Okay, babe?” Francis did not have a chance to answer before Scaramouche’s head jerked up.

            “Alexandria! I haven’t seen you in _ages_ , babe!” The arm slid away from his grasp as Scaramouche rushed forward, pulling the woman in a long green gown into a hug. “Let me introduce you to my boyfriend!” Francis took a hesitant step forward, left arm dangling limply at his side.

            “This is Francis, babe,” Scaramouche beamed.

            “Hm? Yes, oh great. Scaramouche? Do you have five minutes? I need to discuss you assignments."

            “Lighten up, babe! It’s a party!”

            “Yes, but I’ve seen you once in the last six months.”

            “I’ll be back in a couple of minutes, baby.” Scaramouche pecked Francis’ forehead, bounding off with Alexandria as the protest died on Francis’ lips. Backing away as much as he could, he silently stood by the refreshments table.

            “Lost your big, bad _client_ , huh?” _Why are all of Scaramouche’s friends assholes?_ Seth sneered down, standing a full head taller than Francis.

            “He’s just speaking to Alexandria. He’ll be back in a few minutes,” Francis muttered.

            “Oh! So the sex bot can speak! Well, don’t you worry your pretty, little head. _I’ll_ watch after you while he’s gone.”

            “ _Thank you_ , but I’m fine.”

            “There’s not a bot in here that wouldn’t think twice about using every opening you’ve got and maybe making a few new ones to use. Do you really think you can take any of us trained assassins?” Used to intimidation, Francis kept his expression neutral. His compressors barely sped up at the threat. _I only need to stall a few more minutes_. Seth reached one massive hand up, cupping Francis’ chin. Trying not to draw attention, Francis patiently tried to push it away, feeling the fingers tighten against his jaw.

            “I suggest you stop acting so feisty and do your job.” More and more of his sharp metal teeth were revealed as his mouth opened in a cruel smile.

            Francis winched as a partial shock sent his head snapping back. Automatically, one hand came up to make sure there was no damage while the other sought his hidden dagger, ready to forfeit the glass if he needed to fight.

            “And _I_ suggest you find some other poor, unfortunate soul to torment with your insufferable existence. That is, unless you want to wind up compacted in a junk yard. Scaramouche would barely have to lift a finger to dispose of the likes of you. You’re nothing to him.” Seth’s eyes had doubled in size as he stared up from the ground, body still racked with tremors from the electric shock. When he finally regained control of himself, he scampered off with a rushed apology.

            “Thank—”

            “Don’t thank me. You haven’t the faintest idea what I could do to you, _mercenary_.” The last word was hissed so that only he could hear, painfully cutting through the crowd and his shattered nerves. He nearly shut down out of shock.

            “I’m not—”

            “ _Don’t_ lie to me.” Francis snapped his jaw shut, opting for silence once more. Although the person before him was nearly a foot shorter, Francis had never been so terrorized in the presence of someone. Drawing a steel arrow from the quiver at their side, they stabbed a pile of the meat, repeating the process twice more until half the arrow acted like a skewer.

            “Scaramouche is going to be gone for at least a half hour, knowing him. Would you like to accompany me out to the balcony while I have a smoke? I am _supposed_ to have support should the Samurai decide to strike, and I have not yet hired a new body guard after my last one proved to be a royal failure. Don’t worry. I’m not interested in hiring you for _any_ job, but it will be enough to satisfy the higher powers.” Francis found himself nodding as the person before him turned on their heel and began marching through the crowd. Finally able to force his feet to move, Francis trailed behind them, mesmerized as the crowd melted out of their way.

            The quiet night was a relief from the ever growing roar of the party. The person perched on the balcony railing, one leg hanging dangerously over the outside edge. Neither said a word for what felt like an eternity.

            “You’re awfully brave for coming to a gathering of the top assassins in the world, severely loyal to Aku, mercenary. Or do you prefer, Francis?”

            “I’m Francis,” he uttered in shock.

            “I know. I know more about you then you probably want. Address, livelihood, and I can say with 99 percent confidence that you’re the reason Scaramouche keeps getting noise violations in the hotels. Regardless, you’re either incredibly brave or incredibly stupid. I’d like to think it’s option three: Scaramouche guilt tripped you into coming.” _Oh, Aku. They’re a mind reader!_

            “I’m not a mind reader, if that’s what you’re wondering.” Francis could not help but tense. He was fairly certain their gaze was still trained on the city before them, but he swore he felt eyes prying into his mind.

            “Really, I’m not a mind reader. I read people. That’s what, the third time I probably stated something about you I’m not supposed to know? Most people start to assume I’m a mind reader then, which puts me at number four.” Francis was still not appeased, but merely leaned against the wall next to the door, sipping at his rose to help hide his shock.

            “Besides, how could I call myself a good advisor if I was not aware of everything going on?”

            “Oh, Aku! I’m sorry, I did not recognize you.” Francis instantly bowed, compressors now whirling loudly.

            “Oh, please, no one greets me like that.”

            “I’m sorry,” Francis shot back up to attention. “I meant no disrespect! I—”

            “Stop your sniveling. I don’t care about that sort of proper etiquette.” Shadow finally took off their helmet, dropping it to the inside of the railing. Francis tried not to stare, but the gaping hole in their cheek, which exposed the metal jaw below it caught his attention. Tearing his eyes away, he stared pointedly at the ground. Shadow snickered before drawing out a cigarette and summoning a small flame to the tip of their index finger.

            “Did you expect me to be taller? A little more menacing?”

            “Yes.”

            “A little less mangled?” They took a puff from the cigarette as he contemplated an acceptable answer, a thin trail of smoke drifted from the metal jaw before they inhaled. Francis remained silent when an answer did not come to him. Shadow snorted at the lack of response, letting their hand dangle at their side between drags.

            “I’ve still got three more packs left. How long do you want to stay out here?” Shadow finally asked, the filter the only part remaining.

            “As long as you’d like.”

            “Good answer. Quite frankly, I’d rather throw myself off this balcony than go back inside. This whole party’s a waste of money and time.” _How will Scaramouche find me? Do I alert him?_ _What does she want with me?_ The still burning filter was crushed in their hands, seeming to vanish from existence.

            “I’ll bet you wondering why I swooped in and rescued you.” He felt his eyes flicker quickly, but tried to hide his surprise as their statement came on the tail end of his thought again.

            “It’s not about you. I’m just sick and tired of having to listen to Magnus whine when one of his cronies gets what’s coming to him. There’s no doubt that Scaramouche would have put an end to Seth, and then I’d be stuck listening to Magnus rant all week.”

            “And I don’t give a damn if you’re a mercenary,” Shadow added as an afterthought. “If Aku’s trained assassins are bested by a self-taught bounty hunter, then they deserve to be destroyed. A bit of precaution: I wouldn’t take out any more of Magnus’ cronies if you can help it. You don’t really want him on your bad side.” Francis felt the soft vibration of his phone in his inside coat pocket.

            “Scaramouche, I assume. He’ll be worried about you. Answer it, I don’t mind.” Francis thanked them, unsurprised that Scaramouche’s number flashed on the screen as he answered.

            “Where’d you get off to, babe? I’ve looked everywhere for you!”

            “On the balcony with Shadow. She invited me out.”

            “It’s ‘they,’ babe. They’re non-binary.” Francis jaw twitched in horror.

            “I’m so sorry, I didn’t –”

            “This one’s on me. I didn’t tell you. _Don’t_ make the same mistake.”

            “Come and meet me by the wines, babe. We’ll grab a glass and call it a night, alright?” Francis affirmed before hanging up.

            “Truly, I am sorry. I meant no disrespect.”

            “You worry too much about the little things. Go on, I’ll show myself in. I wouldn’t be in this position if I couldn’t take care of myself. I’d say go enjoy the party with Scaramouche, but you hate it almost as much as I do. Have a nice evening.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to Salacious Shipping for allowing me to borrow Francis! You can find more information about their artwork here (https://goo.gl/1t59on) and their Patreon here (https://www.patreon.com/ssnsfw/posts).


	26. Atypical Bounty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Francis and Scaramouche are offered a side job by Shadow to take out a target. The price is right, but the target is not quite what they expected.

**Atypical Bounty**

 

            “I think Shadow likes you, babe,” Scaramouche teased as he jabbed his dagger forwards. The petty thief cried out as he was impaled, taking one last wild swing before he dropped further onto the blade.

            “Oh? What makes you say that, Mon Amour?” Francis was grappling with the other thief. He could not focus his full attention on Scaramouche as he avoided a left hook and threw his own weight forward in an attempt to tackle his target.

            “Not like, attracted to you, babe,” Scaramouche amended. “They’re the most asexual person I’ve ever met.” He ripped a clean piece of fabric off of the dead body and began wiping his dagger clean. “But they don’t dislike you, which is quite rare. See, Shadow hates everyone, but they hate some more than others.” Watching as Francis wrestled his way on top of his target, Scaramouche nodded his approval at the sharp crack of a neck snapping. Standing up, Francis tilted his head, waiting for Scaramouche to go on as he brushed the dirt off of him.

            “You were with them for, what? Forty or fifty minutes, babe? And they didn’t even maim you! Hardly threatened you, right?”

            “They knew I was a mercenary and said I had no idea what they could do to me,” Francis added, shuffling along the grass until he found his discarded weapon. Sheathing his own dagger, he helped Scaramouche load the two bodies on the side car of Scaramouche’s bike, lined to prevent any blood from staining the compartment. They were an easy catch for a good price, but Francis did not mind the lack of challenge. _The people placing a bounty that have too much money on their hands and a short temper are the best._

            “That’s nothing, babe! Most people don’t even last ten minutes without a brutal threat on their life and their family. The first time I was introduced to them, they had me pinned to the wall with a knife to my throat before I could even react. They’ve taken a few of my fingers too, baby, when they’re in a bad mood. Had to drop in and get the replaced before I could come home quite a few times.”

            “Do you think that’s why they offered me the bounty? I mean, one million each is a nice sum for someone who supposedly will not hurt us.”

            “I think Shadow’s not supposed to ask me directly since that goes against protocol. I’m only supposed to get rid of rebels and traitors, babe. Not sure if this Devin fellow is one of those. But what I’m really getting at, baby, is maybe making you an official assassin. If anyone can get you in, it’s Shadow, and if they like you, that’s ninety percent of the battle right there.”

            “I don’t think I’m assassin material, Mon Amour.”

            “You could be _my_ body guard, babe. Then I can take you on all my missions.”

            “You think I would make a good body guard?” Francis asked doubtfully.

            “Of course! Plus, you’d be the handsomest one, babe!”

~/~

            “Are you looking for Devin? That’s me!” the target Francis was discreetly observing proudly announced with a wave. The target looked exactly like the picture Shadow had sent: sickly pale skin, messy dark hair, and an arrogant grin. _He should not have  known I was looking for him. Perhaps I’m losing my touch? I suppose I can’t leave him waiting now._ Francis slid his phone back inside his vest pocket. He kept his glance trained on the table, fighting the growing impulse to glance towards the roofs. As he feared, Devin was sitting across from another woman at the pier café. ‘Devin will likely be with another woman. Lay one finger on her and I will become your worst nightmare,’ Shadow’s last text to him had read. _I’ll just deal with Devin quickly. Plant myself in between them if I have to. He doesn’t look too threatening._

            “So,” Devin rested his chin on his hands, flashing a toothy grin, “Where’s your tag team partner?” _Shit. He should not know any of this._

            “What are you talking about?” Francis held the bluff. With his thumb, he flicked the dagger out of the sheath by two centimeters.

            “The assassin! Where’s Scaramouche? Isn’t he with you?” Creeping his hand to the dagger hilt, Francis shook his head. As soon as Devin slammed his fist on the table, Francis drew his dagger, shifting to his right in case he needed to defend the woman.

            “I have been betrayed! I show my face for the first time in like two years, and this is all the greeting I get? Can you believe this?” The woman just shrugged. Francis could see she was trying to hide a chuckle, but all he could do was grip the dagger tighter as he prepared to jump the table and attack his target. Shadow had asked him not to kill Devin, but wounding was highly encouraged.

            “This is preposterous! Is it even worth going on?” From inside his green trench coat, Devin drew out his own dagger. Instead of lunging for Francis, he turned the blade on himself, running it through the right side of his chest. He sighed dramatically before slowly crumpling to the ground with a muttered “ouch.” Francis rose out of his pre-lunge crouch.

            “I’m dying,” Devin wailed quietly, dragging out the word for a few seconds. Francis cast a quick glance towards the woman, but she just rolled her eyes, letting an amused smile cross her face. When Devin sat up suddenly, Francis prepared to attack once more.

            “Can I finish this wine since I’m about to die?”

            “Sure, go for it.” Devin snatched the bottle, gulping down the last quarter of the bottle as he slowly laid back down on the ground. He let out a long groan once he had finished off the bottle.

            “He’s all yours,” the woman smiled, nodding towards the far side of the table. Francis kept his weapon drawn, edging around the table. Although still clearly alive, Devin had folded his hands on his chest just below the dagger hilt as if he were resting in a coffin. _He’s almost as tall as Scaramouche,_ Francis realized as he picked up Devin’s ankles and began dragging him towards Scaramouche’s bike.

            “You should get someone to help you,” Devin suggested. Shooting a glare over his shoulder, Francis saw the smirk growing in size. Before Francis could react, Devin kicked out of the hold, rolling to his feet and brandishing the bloody dagger.

            Francis jumped back as Devin lunged forwards, realizing his mistake too slowly. Devin had faked the attack, instead backtracking the few meters to the woman in a few steps. It did not matter to Francis if Devin knew Scaramouche was around. He signaled for help to the nearby roofs before throwing himself at Devin.

            Devin pushed off the back of the woman’s chair, propelling himself over Francis’ lunge. Francis skidded to a halt. The relief when he saw Scaramouche silently approaching was not masked as he knew the fight would soon be over. Realizing someone was behind him, Devin spun away from the woman and Francis, letting Scaramouche’s dagger slice into his side rather than fully impale him.

            “Oh no! You got me!” Devin’s grin split over his face as he threw his arms around Scaramouche’s throat, using the leverage to hold himself out and kick out Scaramouche’s legs. They both tumbled to the ground as Francis sprinted over.

            “I guess you’ll just have to take me prisoner now. Oh man, being held captive by the sexiest assassin. Finally living the dream!” Devin sighed happily, pulling Scaramouche’s arms around him.

            “You did pick the best way to go, babe,” Scaramouche chuckled, sitting back up. Francis did not care that Scaramouche had a grip on the target: he wanted to make sure he did not escape again.

            Lunging for Devin’s legs, he heard a swear and a loud pop. His dagger glanced off the road. Scaramouche was equally dumbfounded, rolling back to his knees and offering Francis a hand once he had stood back up. When the cursory glance of the area showed no signs of Devin, Scaramouche just shrugged and headed to the table, nodding for Francis to follow him.

            “BK! How have you been, babe?”

            “Eh, you know, can’t complain.” She stood, accepting Scaramouche’s hug in greeting. “You?”

            “Never better, babe! I’d like you to meet my boyfriend, Francis!”

            “Ah,” BK tilted her head down and chuckled before offering a hand. “I guess that’s why Shadow waited so long to send the cavalry. A pleasure to meet you. I also appreciate that you wanted to protect me. I’m sure Shadow threatened you a number of times on that front.”

            “BK’s Shadow’s fiancée, babe,” Scaramouche added.

            “Not quite. You know the rule.”

            “Oh, I know. You all can’t get married or propose until the Samurai’s killed. It’s been quite a wait, hasn’t it, babe?”

            “Yeah, yeah, can’t do anything until he’s been dealt with. It’s been, oh, twenty years and counting at the rate their going. It’s such a stupid rule that Shadow can’t go after him. Sure, it’s for their own protection, but Aku needs to just relax and let Shadow have some fun. Come join us for lunch. I’m sure Devin will be back. I can’t see him leaving half a sandwich untouched. Plus, he’ll probably want to get another bottle of wine.” Scaramouche readily accepted the invitation, gracefully sitting next to BK. Francis followed suit, although it was with extreme reluctance that he put away his dagger. After a few seconds, there was another pop and Devin reappeared a few steps away from the empty seat.

            “You two done trying to kill me?” BK muttered a few words to him, which Francis guessed to be German. Immediately, his face fell as he crossed his arms.

            “You tell Shadow,” Devin pointed threateningly at Francis, “that they’re grossly unfair, that’s what. Tracing around in that stupid … bike? … and … shit, I forgot how the line goes. Never mind. Just send a quick ‘fuck you’ or something like that.” He took a seat, even as Francis stared him down with a hand back on his dagger.

            “So, Shadow’s paying for this, right?” Devin posed, leaning back in his chair. BK nodded, flashing a credit card. “Good! Let’s get another bottle of wine. Three bottles divides among four people nicely.”

            “That would be the fourth, but that’s fine.” BK signaled to a server bot near the main café. “So, what’s the word on Shadow’s new guard? I haven’t talked to Shadow in like four months and I’ve been getting mixed reviews. I heard Vile is the top candidate?” Scaramouche instantly frowned at the news.

            “I don’t know anyone named Vile, babe. Last I heard, I was the most likely candidate, but I don’t know if it’s something I want to take. I’d be there full time with almost no time off, babe.”

            “You’re top choice because almost everyone ships you with Shadow,” Devin interjected.

            “Hey, now,” BK countered, casting a glare in his direction. “Don’t be spreading your Shadku propaganda here.”

            “You know Shadow likes ‘em tall. They’ve got the tallest assassin, tallest guard, and tallest boss. And they can’t stand training anyone shorter than their fighting pose.”

            “Personally, I ship Shadow with me,” BK stated with a smirk. The server bot brought out the new bottle of wine and two more glasses for Francis and Scaramouche. He filled everyone’s glass before rolling away, leaving the bottle towards the center. Francis jumped as the bottle began sliding closer to Devin’s side.

            “Can’t see what you see in that tyrant,” Devin muttered, draining his glass in seconds.

            “Hey!” BK barked. “It has its benefits.” Devin arched up an eyebrow as he refilled his glass.

            “Okay, not _those_ kind of benefits,” BK amended. “It’s the opposite of that. You all know I’m in it for the money. Plus, the protections nice, too. It’s great to have Shadow promising not to kill you.”

            “True. If you outlive that heat miser, you’re set. What’s the only thing they spend on? Heat and … pianos?”

            “Honestly, I’m not one hundred percent sure about the last one. Supposedly there’s receipts, but they all look identical to me, and I don’t really trust what they say. Like, they’re not a mind reader? Sure. I’d _totally_ believe the pathological liar on that.”

            “Tell them about your love life woes.”

            “You bastard,” BK rolled her eyes, taking a measured sip before turning to Francis. “Don’t know where I went wrong, but apparently, dating Shadow makes you blacklisted.”

            “In the area?” Francis asked.

            “Oh no. Blacklisted, blacklisted. Valerie K., the toy maker?” Francis drew back at the recognition. He remembered the name.

            “Don’t worry. It’s literally because I’m dating Shadow. That’s the only reason I’m on a list with all those murderers and torturers. Want to know what’s worse? Shadow, SHADOW, gets a half off discount to whoever they go to. Where did I go wrong? So, yeah, _Devin_ , it makes it hard to get any action.” Devin let out a hearty laugh as he filled his glass a third time. “Anyway. Don’t you have someone else to bother? I’d like to catch up with what’s going on with my future spouse since I don’t get to see them.”

            “You’re supposed to ask: ‘Don’t you have to be stupid somewhere else?’ and I’ll respond ‘Not until four.’”

            “Okay, yeah, that.”

            “Not until four. I’m gonna go bother MB and see if he’ll hook me up with a loan. Ooh, and maybe steal some Scotch. He probably gets the good stuff, right? Where do you think he keeps it? Under the sink? That’s where I would keep it, if I had any. And also, if I had a sink.”

            “You know he’ll call the police if he sees you on the premises. Shadow has him wrapped around their finger. And don’t call him that!”

            “Even if I go looking like this?” Devin spread his arms, showing off the self-inflicted wound.

            “Okay, he’ll call an ambulance first, and then the police.”

            “I can deal. I’m gonna head over, keep his porch nice and cozy while I stich this up and maybe magic the blood out of my coat. Peace!” Devin vanished again, the bottle disappearing with him.

            “Tell me about Vile, babe. I don’t think they’re on the payroll.”

            “Ah, it’s nothing to worry about. It’s just Shadow, but in purple. Or, they could spice it up and go Aqua: Shadow, but in blue. Or Orange, I guess.”

            “Shadow, but in orange?” Francis ventured.

            “No. Shadow, but in turquois. All the hot colors belong to Magnus. Hey, don’t give me that look. I don’t decide the outfit names. I think Shadow just needs to pick Lucille.”

            “Hell no, babe! Shadow needs to scrap Lucille and get a replacement. They needed to do that years ago, babe!”

            “Who is Lucille?” Francis asked quietly.

            “You are one of the lucky ones,” BK grinned.

            “See, I told you Shadow liked you, babe.”

            “What do you mean? Who’s Lucille?”

            “It’s Shadow’s bike, babe. A horrifying conglomerate of pieces that should have been laid to rest decades ago.”

            “All the newbies get a ride on Lucille. Shadow loves to test people’s bravery. I think that’s why they stuck with me. You know I drove Lucille, right, Scaramouche?” BK bragged.

            “You’re fucking insane, babe.” Scaramouche let out a hearty laugh. Francis winced at the insulting accusation. For some reason, he felt the need to apologize for Scaramouche’s outburst. His awkward apology was interrupted by another pop.

            “Hey so how fast can Shadow get here from—” Devin’s question was harshly interrupted as Shadow seemed to fade into existence. They fired two shots in his direction before Devin vanished with another pop. Shadow nodded to the table before fading away. After a few more seconds, Devin reappeared again.

            “You missed, mother fucker!” he shouted.

            “Devin,” BK sighed. “You’ve been shot twice.” He glanced at the spreading bloodstains on each shoulder and swore.

            “I _just_ got the blood out of the jacket, too. They didn’t kill me though, so –” As if on cue, Shadow appeared again, this time launching a dagger in his direction. It clattered to the ground, bloody, as Devin vanished.

            “Well, I haven’t seen you in a while. How was the party?”

            “Miserable,” Shadow growled, “but I didn’t kill anyone this year. And yes, this is exactly what you think it is.” They gave the container they were holding a gentle shake. “The shop keeper was getting rid of them because they aren’t fresh enough.”

            “Worms, in case anyone who isn’t a mind reader was wondering,” BK filled in.

            “What do you think about a new addition?”

            “I’m gonna defer to you. Your judgement is better than mine. I have to say I don’t have any complaints. I’ve been pretty pleased so far.”

            “Listen, I’m sorry we didn’t capture him,” Francis murmured.

            “I didn’t expect you to. I just wanted him to know what I had in store. I’ll transfer a deposit to your account so it doesn’t get taxed. I trust you to split it evenly.” They nodded towards Scaramouche.

            “I forgot that bounties were the third thing you spend money on,” BK chuckled.

            “What are the other two areas?” Shadow posed, plucking out a few worms and devouring them.

            “My happiness and wellbeing,” BK stated confidently. Shadow just snorted.

            “It’s heat and pianos. Would you like to accompany me back? I have a home meeting with MB before I was so rudely interrupted.”

            “I would, but _please_ stop calling him that!” BK took the offered hand. Shadow gave Scaramouche and Francis a nod of dismissal before melting out of existence with BK. Francis stared at the spot before Scaramouche, used to Shadow’s method of travel, brought him out of the stupor.

            “Just so you know, babe, we’ve got an extra 5,000 each to blow. And I want to use some of mine to take you on a nice date!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to Salacious Shipping for allowing me to borrow Francis! You can find more information about their artwork here (https://goo.gl/1t59on) and their Patreon here (https://www.patreon.com/ssnsfw/posts).


	27. Recovery Mission

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scaramouche is sent on a mission to find one of the other general's men and Francis tags along.

**Recovery Mission**

 

            “Victor probably got fucking lost again, babe. He couldn’t find his way to his office even if you put him a meter away from the door. I’ll bet you almost anything he had one too many drinks last night and tried to get to his hotel room that is literally across the street from the bar and wandered out here. He’ll probably make up some BS story about how something chased him, babe, and that’s why he activated his emergency tracer. Can you imagine one of the rebels wasting their time with him? Magnus wants to promote him, but he’s the worst, babe.”

            “I’ll take you up on the bet,” Francis smirked. “If I win, you buy us a nice bottle of wine and ride me until I’m dry.”

            “Oh?” Scaramouche purred, “And if I win, baby?”

            “You still buy us a nice bottle of wine, but I’ll please you until we flood the bedroom.”

            “Sounds like a win-win for you, babe, but I accept!” Francis smiled as Scaramouche  wrapped an arm around his shoulders.

            “Hang on a second, babe. You’ve got something on your face.” Francis stopped, letting Scaramouche tip his chin up. His question was cut off as Scaramouche pressed their lips together. Francis held tight to his waist as he kissed him back.

            “Scara, aren’t you supposed to be working?” he teased, once they broke it off.

            “I _am_ working, babe. Working my tongue in your mouth.”

            “You’re ridiculous.” Yet, Francis leaned forwards, letting Scaramouche kiss him again.

            “You’re handsome, babe,” Scaramouche murmured before nibbling on Francis’ lower lip.

            “You are too, Mon Amour. Let’s hurry and finish your mission. I’m looking forward to winning the bet.”

            “We got another couple hundred meters to go, babe. Besides, I won’t be able to kiss you again like that until after we help Victor figure out his left hand from his right!”

            “Don’t worry, Mon Amour. This evening will be worth the wait.” Scaramouche threaded his fingers with Francis’ as they continued walking through the woods. Once they got within a closer range of the tracker, they began calling Victor’s name.

            “He’s probably passed out, babe. Shadow definitely has better picks when it comes to assassins and guards,” Scaramouche smirked, gesturing proudly to himself. Glancing at his phone to check the coordinates, he frowned.

            “It looks like we should be nearby, babe. It doesn’t seem like anyone’s here or been here. Maybe he just lost his tracker. That would explain why he hasn’t moved in hours. Look around and see if you see a small, red tracker.” They separated to search through the thick brush. It only took a few bushes for Francis to find the object.

            “Scara. You should come see this.” Scaramouche bounded over in a few strides, stepping up beside Francis. His eyes went wide. Before them sat the shredded remains of a robot, the red tracker blinking lazily in the tall grass nearby.

            “We need to leave, babe! Now!” He shoved Francis back in the direction they had come from, not giving him a chance to protest or question. Scaramouche was not fast enough in the retreat. Since Francis had been shoved in the lead, the throwing knife plunged into his chest.

            Francis staggered to a halt, Scaramouche nearly running him over. Although his vision was nearly completely covered in static, he managed to see the movement to their right. Throwing his entire body in that direction, he felt the longer blade run him through.

            Grabbing the blade just above the handle, he let himself fall to his knees, taking the two protruding weapons with him. _Can’t let them have these weapons back. Have to give Scaramouche a chance to kill them._ The assailant took a few steps back, surprised that Francis had intercepted the attack and kept the weapons. He managed to turn tail and start racing through the forest, leaping into the trees for cover.

            Scaramouche knelt beside Francis, timidly holding his shoulder.

            “Go … go after him. I’m okay. It missed … anything critical,” Francis groaned, one hand holding each blade still so they did not cause more damage. “I’ll … start back… to your bike.”

            “Francis, baby! You’ve been impaled!”

            “Go! This is the… perfect … opportunity. Don’t worry…” Francis kept his head downturned. A tighter squeeze of his shoulder was followed by a light kiss on the top of his head.

            “I’ll be back in two minutes, babe.” After a curt nod, Scaramouche bounded off in the direction of Momotaro. Francis waited another five seconds before he stopped fighting the wave of oil from tumbling over his lips. He cried out quietly, trying to get back to his feet. _It’s so close that I can’t risk removing the blades._ The unreliable legs only carried him a few steps before he pitched forward to his knees. Unable to even get his legs in position to stand again, Francis risked removing his hands. He crawled forward like an injured dog.

            After ten meters, his arms gave out on him. He screamed into the ground as the blades pressed deeper into him. Still clawing at the ground, he tried to drag himself forward, managing only a few centimeters when he realized the blade handles were caught on the ground, his movements causing the blades to rotate inside of him. Defeated, he laid still, coughing up oil as his body tried to unsuccessfully deal with the injury.

            He whimpered as the gentle hands rolled him to his side.

            “I left you when you were injured twice before, babe. I’m not about to do it again.” _No! You can’t let him get away_. Francis tried to speak, instantly silenced by Scaramouche.

            “Just relax, babe. I’m going to get you help.” Francis nodded, feeling himself fade as the trees whizzed by.

~/~

            “How are you feeling, baby?” Scaramouche perched on the bed as if the slightest movement would send Francis into a torrent of pain.

            “Much better now. The overall recovery will be short, I think, Mon Amour,” Francis assured him. Although he was not bedridden, Scaramouche insisted he remain where he was. His body ached as the circuits tried to repair themselves and he did not want to argue with his caretaker.

            “Are you in pain, babe?”

            “Not much.” Francis reflected back to his sex bot days. This was nothing compared to the aftermath of some sessions. The doctor Scaramouche had taken him to had done a superb job of repairing the damage and mitigating the pain; however, the answer was not what Scaramouche wanted to hear.

            “I’m so sorry, babe. I should have never taken you along.”

            “Really, I’m fine! The pain is very minimal. I would consider it more annoying than causing me any suffering. Perhaps we should do something together, Mon Amour? It would help take my mind off of it.” _And something to distract you from worrying so much about me._

            “I won’t … I won’t hurt you, will I, baby?” Scaramouche risked extending a hand, taking Francis nearest hand. To prove he was not as fragile as Scaramouche was treating him, Francis gave him a reassuring squeeze.

            “Keep it gentle, and it will be fine.” Scaramouche finally relented, straddling Francis hips as he leaned forwards. Their lips met softly.

            Timid kisses were exchanged for a few minutes. Francis let his eyes slip closed as Scaramouche mustered up the courage to wrap his arms around Francis head and shoulders.

            “What should I … what would you like me to do, babe?” The whispered question was followed with a few more fleeting kisses along his jaw.

            “Why don’t you use your tongue, Mon Amour?” Francis smiled pleasantly, easily masking the trifling pain.

            “Alright. I want to undress you though, babe, so you can rest afterwards.” Francis nodded. He had been recuperating all day, but did not mind agreeing to appease Scaramouche.  The hesitant fingers worked the buttons open on his shirt and went no further as Scaramouche drew back. Fearing that Scaramouche might be sick after the near violent recoil, Francis sat up and reached out.

            “I – I didn’t realize how bad,” Scaramouche could not finish his thought. Unwilling to get off of Francis quickly for fear of hurting him, he leaned towards the edge of the bed, vomiting into his hands.

            “Mon Amour! It’s not so bad. The place we went to just doesn’t do the cosmetic repairs. Look, this is nothing more than a blemish.”  Scaramouche shook his head, slowly maneuvering off of the bed before he dashed from the room. Wincing as he heard Scaramouche throw up again before he could have possibly reached the washroom, Francis abandoned his day of doing absolutely nothing and followed him. Finding Scaramouche hunched over the sink, Francis called out to him softly.

            “You should be in bed, babe,” Scaramouche’s strained murmur came.

            “You are worrying too much about me. I’m practically at full health.” Francis stretched up on his toes to untie the scarf and pull it away so it would not get stained. After folding it and hanging it on the edge of the tub, Francis returned to Scaramouche’s side, helping him wipe away the burnt oil from his hands and face.

            “I didn’t know it was so bad, babe. I should have realized, but I just … wasn’t thinking! I wasn’t thinking when I invited you to go along with me, or when I saw how badly Victor was destroyed that it might have been a trap. Baby, I’m so sorry!”

            “You couldn’t have known,” Francis reminded him gently, coaxing him to the floor so they could sit next to each other. “Besides, I don’t want you to treat me like I am made of glass. I know I’m not as strong or fast or skilled as you, but I want to go bounty hunting with you! On the safer missions, I want to be with you!”

            “But babe, you’re hurt!”

            “Like I said, it’s merely a punctured plate. I just have to have it repaired later. The circuitry has been repaired.”

            “No, babe,” Scaramouche sobbed, “You’re in pain! You’re in pain because of me!”

            “It’s not—” Francis froze midsentence. _He’s an assassin. Nothing is supposed to ever touch him in battle, let alone hurt him_. “Mon Amour, I understand your concern. Because of … what I was built for and my past life, I have a high tolerance for pain. What I’m feeling right now is almost completely ignorable. I’m only vaguely aware of it. It does not hinder me at all. Yes, it was bad when the attack first occurred, but that was because several systems were compromised. Once those were repaired, I felt fine. I feel fine right now. I only stayed in bed all day because you had asked me to.”

            “I don’t want you to ever be hurt, babe.” Francis crawled into Scaramouche’s lap, leaning into the loose embrace.

            “I know, Mon Amour. I don’t want you to be hurt either. But sometimes it happens. You shouldn’t blame yourself for this. You said it earlier: the only one to blame is Momotaro. Come, let’s go back to the bedroom. Perhaps it will take both of our minds off of it.”

            “Alright, babe,” he agreed gently, pecking Francis on top of his head. “But I’m still going to make you take it easy. Let me awe you with my new tongue skills!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to Salacious Shipping for allowing me to borrow Francis! You can find more information about their artwork here (https://goo.gl/1t59on) and their Patreon here (https://www.patreon.com/ssnsfw/posts).


	28. What Happens to Failures

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Magnus reprimands Scaramouche for failing to kill Momotaro and deals out what he considers a fitting punishment.

**What Happens to Failures**

            “It just seems weird that he wants to see you in person when you could have explained everything over the phone,” Francis murmured, keeping his head down as Scaramouche guided him through the barracks interior. “And why bring me along?”

            “Relax, babe! Magnus just likes to hear the story in person. He probably has another mission to give me afterwards, and we don’t want to discuss that on the phone. I guess he just wants you to come along in case I forget anything, since you were there, baby.” He gave Francis shoulder a reassuring squeeze. Yet, Shadow’s warning still rang in Francis’ ears. _Scaramouche was right though: It’s not our fault that ­­­Victor was destroyed. He should have been more careful!_

            “Besides, you’ve managed Shadow. They’re a lot scarier than Magnus. At least he’s only human, babe.”

            “But isn’t Shadow—”            

            “We’re here, babe!” Francis fell silent, glancing up to meet the disapproving eyes of the heavily armored robot guarding the door.

            “State your business,” the hallway guard barked.

            “We’ve got a meeting with Lieutenant General Magnus, babe.” After another distasteful glance over, he knocked twice before receiving permission to enter. The door closed behind him. Francis glanced up, letting a smile touch his lips as Scaramouche shrugged and made an eye rolling gesture.

            “Lieutenant General Magnus is expecting you. Please enter.” The guard’s tone had softened a bit as he held the door open for them. Francis thanked him, following Scaramouche inside.

            “Skip the pleasantries and take a seat. I have more business to attend to after you tell me exactly what happened.” _I have a worse feeling about him than I ever did with Shadow._ Francis stole a quick glance to the back of the room where two other guards stood silently. Settling into the chair Scaramouche pulled out for him, Francis folded his hands into his lap. Magnus sat on the opposite side of his mahogany desk, battle plans and other notes neatly situated neatly before him. Like the guard outside, Magnus was heavily armored, his blood red plated armor adjourned with gold glinting in the florescent light of the office. Although Francis could see a bit of flesh behind the helmet, Francis could not push the thought of a killing machine from his head.

            “Well, babe, Francis and I had gone to look for Victor like you asked. We tracked him down to the location. He had been slain in a thick part of the forest. You could tell by damage it was Momotaro, babe. It must have been intended as a trap, because Momotaro was nearby. We were ambushed. I chased after him, but he managed to escape after injuring Francis.”

            Magnus sat quietly, as if mulling the information over. Finally, he stood, turning his back to them.

            “Victor was one of my finest protégées, set to be head of my guard by the end of the year. I had hoped it was only the case of a lost tracker. Alas, another lost to the rebellion forces.” The silence hung heavy in the air. Francis was almost tempted to apologize for Magnus loss and would have, had he not been so weary of the guards.

            “I have just a few questions before you go. Was Victor killed at the location you found him, or was he moved?”

            “I think he was moved, babe. Sir. There did not seem to be any signs of a struggle in the area.” _It was a useless gesture to bring me. I would not have even noticed that._

            “And were you injured during the attack?”

            “No, sir. Francis was attacked first and used his body to protect me from the second strike, babe.”

            “I see. That is all I wanted to discuss.” Magnus stepped around his desk. “I only wanted to hear you say for yourself that you had failed yet again.” Scaramouche saw the hand movement, but could not get his hands on his weapon in time. His body tensed, still jerking wildly when Magnus’ hands came away from his throat. Francis did not waste another second.

            His chair hit the floor as he made a lunge towards Magnus. The guards had moved silently, one grabbing Francis’ nearest arm. Dropping back a step, Francis gave himself some slack before throwing his head back into the guard. With another pull, he freed himself, his right hand jerking his dagger free.

            The jab was sidestepped. Magnus chopped at Francis’ wrist, making him involuntarily drop the dagger. As it clattered to the floor, Magnus used the tool concealed in his gauntlet, jabbing Francis in the chest.

            Although Francis realized the shock must not have been as severe as whatever Magnus had done to Scaramouche since he was still standing, he did stagger back a few steps. In his confusion, he reached for his dagger again before he remembered it had been swatted to the floor. He did not have a chance to grab his swords.

            Magnus was on him in a flash, forcing him backwards until he was pressed against the wall. A quick shock to his throat warned him that any movement would be punished with something worse.

            “Secure and strip the useless assassin while I make our _guest_ comfortable,” Magnus called over his shoulder. Francis did not have to see the face to feel the sinister smile. A knee pressed between his legs, grinding against his attachment as Magnus leaned in to him.

            “I must say, I am impressed with your reaction time and determination for a sex bot. As a reward, I’d be willing to leave one arm free if you want to enjoy yourself as I show you exactly what happens to those that fail the great Aku.”

            “Don’t hurt him! It’s my fault the Momotaro got away. I was injured and Scaramouche stopped pursuing to tend to me. If anyone should be punished, it’s me!”

            “Did you call him back to help you?”

            “No, but—”

            “And were you responsible for bringing in Momotaro in the first place?”

            “I wasn’t, but –”

            “And were you the one that was told to bring him in over a year ago, which would have prevented this whole situation in the first place?” Francis held his tongue. There was no point in answering. “I thought as much.” Flicking his eyes passed the bulky armor, Francis saw that the two other guards had ripped off Scaramouche’s coat and scarf, periodically shocking his throat to keep him docile with a tool similar to what Magnus had used.

            “Please, let me take his place. Whatever you were going to do to him, do to me. I don’t care how bad or how long. Just don’t hurt him.”

            “You care an awful lot about someone who could not possibly have any feelings for you, save the desire to satisfy his own sexual needs.” _He’s wrong!_ Francis reminded himself. Finally released from the wall, Magnus held him in an arm lock, drawing out one of the chairs with his foot. Forced into the chair, Magnus disarmed him completely. The electrical emitting device was held millimeters away his own neck the whole time. Taking Francis’ left arm, Magnus pulled it back behind the chair, handcuffing it to the desk.

            “I’m trusting that you’ll sit right here. If you don’t want to cooperate, I certainly don’t mind putting a bullet through central processing.” Drawing a pistol from the holster, Magnus pointed and fired at Scaramouche’s head.

            The bullet embedded itself in the wall behind Scaramouche, mere millimeters from his head. Francis nodded in response.

            “You’re welcome to do whatever you want with your right hand. Don’t be shy.” The guards had evidently participated in this kind of situation before, each one holding one of Scaramouche’s arms straight out while his lower back and below remained on the ground. His long legs still spasmed even though it had been at least a minute since he had last been shocked. The pistol was holstered, and Francis dared to let a hint of relief flood him. From another compartment in his armor, Magnus withdrew a collar, leaning down to tighten it around Scaramouche’s throat. Francis did not know what it was for, but only knew it was bad news as Scaramouche’s eyes widened into circles of horror. Standing back to his full height, Magnus studied his handy work before drawing out his whip and flicking a switch on the handle.

            “Can you see everything okay?” Francis only stared at the ground, shivering as he heard the electricity sizzling through the weapon. Magnus waited another thirty seconds before touching a button on the wrist of his gauntlet. Scaramouche screamed.

            His head shot back and the two guards nearly lost their grip as his whole body convulsed.

            “Yes! I can see fine!” Francis shouted, pulling at the restraint and almost rising to his feet. Stopping himself with difficulty, he plopped back down on the chair. “I can see.” The screaming stopped once Francis had spoken. Scaramouche shuttered, shaking his head as if he could dislodge the collar if he put enough effort into it.

            “Answer when you’re spoken to next time,” Magnus snapped turning his back to Francis as he stood between Scaramouche’s outstretched legs. After considering his statement, he added, “Or don’t. I have no problem using the collar as much as necessary if you do not want to actively participate. Both of my guards have specialized gauntlets to protect them from the shocks. We can carry on for as long as we would like. Well, as long as Scaramouche’s circuits hold out.” Scaramouche’s body trembled as his eyes were trained to the hand holding the whip, oil already dripping down his long chin. His mouth opened like he wanted to speak, but only a quiet whimper was uttered. Magnus raised his arm to strike the first blow.

            The whip lashed diagonally across Scaramouche’s chest, leaving a thin, burnt gouge starting at the shoulder and going midway down the chest. Scaramouche cried out again, jolting at the touch, but remaining still afterwards. Magnus slashed the opposite way, leaving an X crossed in the metal. He repeated the motions until the lines of the X were almost the width of three fingers. Scaramouche never failed to shriek with each hit, bringing a wince to Francis’ own face every time.

            “Are you enjoying the show? You don’t have to be modest.” Magnus turned back, the whip dangling at his side.

            “No,” Francis forced himself to answer, trying to keep his head up rather than look away from his sobbing companion.

            “No? Surely you must find some sexual satisfaction from seeing someone who only uses you for sex suffering.” Francis shook his head.

            “Please, just let me take his place. Don’t hurt him anymore! Do whatever you want to me!” Francis nearly sobbed, but managed to keep from vomiting. He wanted to make eye contact with Scaramouche, to let him know it would be alright, but he could tell the flickering blue on the visor was unfocused.

            “So you would do anything I asked with no complaints?” Francis nodded eagerly. “Good.” Francis’ eyes widened as Magnus turned his focus back to Scaramouche. He took a few steps back so that he stood by Scaramouche’s feet. One foot was pressed against Scaramouche’s ankle as he raised his arm again.

            The scream of anguish was almost as bad as when Magnus activated the collar. Francis could not help himself. He threw up, spitting a trail of burnt oil on the ground. With pinpoint precision, the whip cut vertically across the port opening and external pleasure center.

            “Stop, babe!” Scaramouche squealed, his loose leg kicking out wildly as he tried to find any purchase against the ground. His movements were too sporadic, his foot either scraping the ground at an awkward angle or kicking at empty air.

            “Shadow gave you too many chances. If you were under me, you would have either completed the mission or met with a worse punishment. You’ll endure this as you should have years ago.” The whip came down in the same area ten more times, leaving Scaramouche’s chest covered in his own vomit as he screamed louder.

            “It’s time you uphold your bargain,” Magnus stated as he walked up behind Francis. After the second or third lash, Francis had dropped his head. He did not want to look anymore, unless prompted to. The freedom of his left arm brought no joy. Both hands remained trembling and clasped in his lap, his body shying away from the gauntlet on his shoulder. The gauntlet shifted to under his arm, pulling him to his feet. Somehow, he managed to make it the few steps towards his injured companion.

            “Look at that. He screams like a coward, but he’s leaking like a slut.” Francis knew the fluids must have been uncontrollable on account of the electrified whip frying the external pleasure center. His own circuits burned in sympathy as he knew without a doubt the pleasure center had been destroyed. _At least the rest of the port is not fairing as poorly. It hasn’t collapsed and could be repaired_.

            “Release him,” Magnus nodded to the guards that held Scaramouche in place.  Instantly, the body fell to the ground. “I’m sure Francis can handle him on his own.” _Handle him? But I’m supposed to take his place?_ Without having a chance to ask what was expected of him, he pitched forward as Magnus’ whip landed against the back of his knees. He grunted at the sting of the electricity.

            “Show me what they used to do to you.”

            “I can’t hurt him.”

            “Need I remind you that you said you would to anything that I commanded? I suggest you get to it. Unless, of course, you want me to find out exactly how much of my whip will fit down his port. Or should I say, her port? I’m sure _she_ would enjoy a long session with me.”

            “Mon Amour,” Francis whispered as trembling fingers undid his pants, “I’m so sorry.” Lining up with the damaged entrance, he slid inside slowly.

            Scaramouche let out a strangled yelp. His eyes were so dim that it was nearly impossible to see his right eye. Coding flashed across the rest of his visor, obscuring the left eye. Francis planted his hands on either side of Scaramouche’s hips, scared to touch him for fear of hurting him further. He rocked back and forwards painstakingly slow, only moving a few centimeters in either direction.

            “I’m sure no one was that slow,” Magnus muttered. The whip was whisked in front of Francis’ vision, leaving a new horizontal line across Scaramouche’s chest. The port quivered violently on his embedded member at the strike. “Pick up the pace.” Unwillingly, Francis complied, setting a more reasonable starting pace for his gentler clients. This satisfied Magnus for the time being.

            Scaramouche had stopped whimpering, but that did not make Francis feel any better. For a while, his fingers had been twitching, but now his whole body remained still. Still, Francis did not stop, fearing a worse punishment for them both.

            “You look like you’re enjoying yourself,” Magnus commented. His voice was flat, and Francis could not read into it. Instead, he nodded.

            “Good. The sex bot is finally having his revenge. Do it harder. Make sure she knows never to use you again.” Francis swallowed down the vile oil in his throat. He thrusted faster, the first one ringing out a quick chirp of pain before Scaramouche fell silent. Soon, regardless of how disgusted he was at himself, he knew he would need to cum. Suddenly, more fluid gushed out as the port tightened rapidly against his attachment. _Oh Aku, I had been avoiding the pleasure centers, too! No doubt that will irritate his port._   He had not meant to bring Scaramouche to orgasm, but he did not have much of a choice. Magnus had noticed.

            “You two should have switched roles in life. Even as you rape her, she’s cumming again. It must feel nice for you with the port about to collapse,” Magnus hissed. He had taken a step forward, cupping Francis chin and tilting it up. Uttering a weak yes, Francis could feel a sob boiling inside of him. His mouth trembled as he muttered about how nice it felt.

            “Use your fingers, too. You should reward your sex bot with another orgasm. I’m sure she’ll _scream_ in pleasure.” Francis could not help it. Oil was expelled from his mouth, dripping over Magnus hand as he knew what was expected.

            “I don’t want to hurt him anymore,” he sobbed, slowing his pace. Something in his mind nagged him to keep moving a little, so he continued the shallow thrusts.

            “ _She’s_ working for you right now and forever after. She is worse than you. She is the slave of a sex bot. That is, unless you want her to belong to me. I’m sure I can find a use for her. Her body will make a nice storage container for my whip.” Oil steadily leaked out of his mouth as he pulled his head out of Magnus’ grasp. Touching the ruined pleasure center made him jerk his fingers away as an exposed wire shocked him. Giving his hand a quick shake, he knew he could waste no more time, having seen Magnus hand creep to the switch on the gauntlet. He had only prodded the area for a few seconds when the door crashed open.

            A splash of oil and a spray of sparks flashed before Francis eyes before one of the two guards fell to the floor. The other guard had lunged towards door, meeting the same fate as his partner. Francis leapt to his feet. It did not matter that he had no weapons. He was prepared to use his body as a shield.

            “Take them to the hospital wing,” a familiar voice growled to their own guard who remained stationed at the door. “I have a few _words_ I’d like to exchange with Magnus.”

~/~

            “Please, let me go back to him,” Francis begged in a whisper. The hospital staff had glanced Francis over, but he assured them nothing was physically wrong, trying to hurry them in attending to Scaramouche. Scaramouche was examined and treated. Shadow’s guard had diligently waited at the door, watching over them both until another runner had come for Francis, requesting he immediately return to speak with Shadow.

            “I know you want to be by his side, and that’s exactly why I brought you here.”

            “I don’t understand. He needs me.”

            “He’s resting right now. My guard will watch over him and keep him safe until you return. You’re going to have to be strong for him. For both of you.  His spirit has been broken. I have seen the look on many robots and humans before. For now, I wanted to give you the opportunity to be angry, to be sad, to be weak, and to be vulnerable. The next few weeks … months will not be easy, and I know you will need this.” It took nothing more for him to let out another sob.

            “It should have been me,” Francis lamented. “It’s _my_ fault. Mine!”

            “Tell me why,” Shadow prompted.

            “Magnus had called Scaramouche, and asked him to look for Victor. We found him, but Momotaro had already killed him and was waiting for the search party. He tried to kill Scaramouche, but I intercepted the attack. He escaped, but Scaramouche did not chase him. He tended to me. If he hadn’t … If I hadn’t been injured, he would have caught him. Would have – would have…” Francis vomited, turning away from Shadow as he dropped to his knees. He did not flinch as a hand found his shoulder.

            “I hate him,” Francis spat after a while. “Magnus. I want him to suffer. I want to kill him!”

            “Trust me, I wish you could. If he wasn’t such a high ranking official, I would let you have the honor.” Both of them sat in silence.

            “I do feel a little better,” Francis finally admitted, “But I want to be back when he wakes.”

            “Be strong. I know I am asking a lot of you, to take care of him, but he will feel safer with you than a stranger.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to Salacious Shipping for allowing me to borrow Francis! You can find more information about their artwork here (https://goo.gl/1t59on) and their Patreon here (https://www.patreon.com/ssnsfw/posts).


	29. Trauma

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scaramouche is still haunted from the attack by Magnus when Shadow and BK stop by to pay a visit.

**Trauma**

 

            “NO! DON’T HURT ME, SIR!”

            “Mon Amour! Shh, it’s alright. You’re safe. You’re home. I’m right here.” Francis took both hands in his, holding the trembling digits tightly. He leaned forwards, pressing a kiss to the nearest temple.

            “It’s not getting better, babe!”

            “It takes time. And you appear to be getting better to me. You’re calming faster and not flinching when I lean close to you. You are making progress.” Bringing one hand up to his lips, he kissed each finger before letting both hands rest on Scaramouche’s chest.

            “I also sewed your scarf back together, Mon Amour. You’ll have to tie it a different way to hide the stitch work, though.” Scaramouche sat forwards, letting Francis wrap the scarf around his neck a few times before tying it. It was quite a bit shorter, barely reaching the top of his hips.

            “I’m sorry. I know it’s not perfect, but it was the best I could do.” Scaramouche worried the tattered ends between his fingers, studying it silently. Finally, he reached out and pulled Francis into a tight hug.

            “It’s perfect, babe. I thought it was ruined… Thank you, baby.” Francis held him close, wanting to scold him for going out so rashly or kiss him until the torture was nothing more than a hazy memory. He had not realized how much of a toll Magnus had taken on him. Even after two months, Scaramouche still woke almost every night from a corrupted memory.

            “It’s like a human nightmare,” the therapist had explained to Francis. “It doesn’t necessarily have to be what happened, but it feels so real to them they feel like the traumatic event is taking place again.” During the day, Scaramouche hardly fared better. He had begun to repair his domestic life, no longer just curling up in the bed or on a chair for the majority of the day, but Francis wondered if he would be able to resume his assassin duties. After the first month of refusing to leave the house, Scaramouche had decided he wanted to bounty hunt again. Francis picked a weak target, one he was sure he could have handled on his own without a problem. They tracked her, taking two more days than Francis would have expected. Once the target was finally cornered, she fought like a cat, lashing out with all she had. It should not have proved a threat, but Scaramouche froze. Francis pushed him out of harm’s way. Their bounty retreated, but Francis did not care, focusing solely on helping Scaramouche through the panic attack.

            After that, Francis had learned to very gradually reintroduce Scaramouche to anything. They went out together, but Scaramouche either waited by the bike or watched from afar, helping to load the bounty once it was disposed of. Francis thought it had been going well.

            Of course, he did not factor in how much Scaramouche wanted to prove that he was a capable assassin. He had snuck out the night before. Francis was not sure how long it had been, but once he searched the entire house, he went scouting for him. It had taken the better part of a day before he finally found him. While the target he had been tracking had been mortally wounded and no longer a threat, Scaramouche had suffered a rough fate. His structure had protected him, the wounds being no worse than some cosmetic injuries, but the panic had consumed him in the middle of the fight. As Francis sat to comfort him, he sobbed, distraught over his tattered scarf. Gingerly, Francis had gathered the pieces all the while coaxing Scaramouche to drive home with him. It was a slow caravan, taking three times the time Francis could have traveled the same distance.

            “I’m sorry if I scared you, babe,” Scaramouche murmured. Francis sighed, tightening his hug.

            “You did, but I understand why you went. When you do want to try hunting again, I hope that you will at least ask me to go with you.”

~/~

            Francis  jumped to his feet at the knock. Company was never a good sign, as it usually consisted of rent or tax collectors. _I’m not due for either._ _No one has ever come here for work either._ Keeping one hand on his dagger, he peered through the peephole. In a rush, he pulled open the door.

            “Good afternoon! How –”

            “We’ve come to see Scaramouche regarding his recovery and recent visit to the hospital,” Shadow stated.

            “I’m doing well. Thanks for asking,” BK elbowed Shadow. In French she added, “You’ll have to excuse them. They’re bitter that they can’t fire Magnus. Don’t worry, Shadow doesn’t speak enough French to count. The only thing they know how to say is a request for an engagement in combat from a fearful comrade, but in different words.” Francis saw that Shadow’s face had not changed at the exchange. Switching back to English, he invited them inside.

            “Please, come in! I’m sorry, I wasn’t expecting guests and –”

            “No one expects the uninvited ones,” Shadow snarled.

            “Tone it down, Tyrant. Scaramouche is going to throw you out a fucking window if you act so threatening. Shadow wants to know if they can speak to Scaramouche regarding the recovery process and possibly returning to work.” Francis nodded, dashing up the stairs to relay the message. With a bit of hesitance, Scaramouche agreed. Shadow stormed up the stairs once Francis came back.

            “They’ll probably be a while.”

            “Would you like to sit down? I truly am sorry. I don’t have much to offer in terms of human refreshments. There’s water,” he added hopefully.

            “No worries! We did stop by unannounced. I hope we’re not interrupting.” Francis led her to the kitchen, moving his swords that he had been sharpening off the table and onto the counter.

            “No, not at all.” He filled a glass with water, offering it to BK as she took a seat. After a sip, Francis flinched as she grimaced. “Is … is something wrong?”

            “I don’t usually drink hot water from the tap. It’s fine. I’ll just let it cool to room temperature.”

            “Shit! I’m so sorry! I forgot that you would … you don’t –”

            “That food and drink temperature is a thing that existed?” BK supplied with a chuckle. “It’s not something you need to think about, so why would you? Come and sit down. I’m actually here for a reason, and not just to give Shadow a hard time. They asked me to check on you.”

            “I’m fine,” Francis insisted. “Can I get you a fresh glass of water?”

            “No. Don’t worry about me. I threatened Shadow enough that they bought me lunch before we showed up. Are you sure you’re okay?” Francis let out a disheartened laugh.

            “No. It’s been hard, but I’m managing alight. There’s always the bad days. I feel so responsible for what happened.”

            “And you can’t tell Scaramouche, because you don’t want to upset him?” She switched back to French, lest their conversation could be heard upstairs. He nodded.

            “The worst was when Scaramouche made me tell him what happened. He could not differentiate what was a corrupted memory … a dream, if you will, versus what actually happened and begged me to tell him. I know he doesn’t blame me for what I did, but I feel like some of the … negative side effects are because of me. Did Shadow tell you what happened?”

            “Yes, in summary. You don’t have to relay anything to me. I’m not here to make you relive it over again.” With a nod of appreciation, Francis continued.

            “Scaramouche hates himself for not being able to … sorry, I don’t mean to be so crude, but to continue fostering our physical relationship.” BK could not help but laugh.

            “You should hear some of the conversations I’ve had. You’re not bothering me in the slightest. And don’t worry about me not getting any action. Devin was just giving me a hard time. I’ve got myself, and that’s enough. Plus, I just go to Shadow if I want a strip tease. Do you know how long it takes to remove like 38 articles of clothing and armor? It’s great!”

            “He has a horrible aversion to anything more than a couple of quick kisses.” _And I’m starting to think he can’t do anything for himself either._ “It’s been hard for him to adjust, and I know he feels like he’s depriving me, even when I swear to him he’s not. And he really isn’t!”

            “We’ve been out bounty hunting,” Francis added. “It … hasn’t gone too well since he’s still prone to panicking if someone fights back. A few days ago, he went out alone and was attacked.”

            “The reason he went to the hospital?” Francis nodded. “I know Shadow won’t force him to return to work. They’ve actually been donating all the leave they have built up so Scaramouche doesn’t use any of his, which is why the reason no one is coming and trying to guilt him into coming back. Shadow’s taking over his duties in the meantime. Depending on what they talk about, Shadow may offer the opportunity for private training sessions. It would provide a low risk way for Scaramouche to get back into routine.”

            “As I said before, Shadow can’t fire Magnus since the other general will not approve. He is sympathetic to Scaramouche’s case, and has allowed Shadow to file a restraining order. Magnus has also been forbidden from giving orders to anyone outside of his command. Do you know how Aku’s army is set up?”

            “No,” Francis admitted. “Scaramouche and I didn’t talk about it much.”

            “So Shadow is basically leading the entire army, since Aku checked out. They have command over everything, are responsible for protecting Aku, and run a special unit of highly trained assassins. Well, currently it’s just one, because Shadow hasn’t found anyone else, but that’s beside the point. There used to be more. General Ophion commands the main army of sentient fighters while Magnus has his own cronies and controls most of the beetle bots. Him and Shadow have always feuded, as he will send their assassins out without permission. He’s always hated Scaramouche, too. I hear from Shadow all the time it’s a mess, but with Aku unwilling to let Shadow go out and clean up, it’s not getting any better.”

            “If Scaramouche does go back, will it be safer for him?”

            “Yes! Well, hopefully. The Samurai is still a threat, but Shadow would never send him out alone to contend with him. He’s supposed to call for reinforcements if he comes across the Samurai.” _So Magnus was the one that sent him after the Samurai before?_

            “What’s the matter?”

            “Huh? Nothing. Sorry, I was just thinking.” Francis folded his hands on the table, studying his fingers intently. BK took another sip, managing to drain half of her glass before she checked the time.

            “They sure are taking a while. I didn’t mean to come in and waste your whole afternoon.”

            “It’s fine, really. I did not have any plans.”

            “Do you want to hear how Shadow and I met? You look like you could use a laugh.”

            “Of course!”

            “The first time we met, I’m not even in my home town. I’m chilling in my friend’s backyard, tinkering with the designs for the next toy line. My moms own a toy shop for kids. I design them, and they build the prototypes. Suddenly, a head appears over the fence, which is quite a bit taller than Shadow. You can bet I recognized them right then and there, because my home neighborhood had been getting a lot of guards coming through and checking for rebels and all of them left Shadow’s calling cards in case someone knew something. So I’m sitting there, holding my tablet, thinking I’m about to die, because surly Shadow would not show up unless something big is about to go down. And in that ‘you have one chance, and if you fuck up I’m going to kill you’ voice, you know the one I’m talking about, they say ‘I love this song. You have a great taste in music.’”

            “Here’s me, in a pair of shorts and a tank top, no weapon or armor anywhere near me, and I shout, ‘Yeah? It’s my fucking theme song. Do you want to go a few rounds?’ because I have no idea why Shadow’s targeting me, but you can be your ass I’m not going to die without a fight. So Shadow gives me the delightful ‘I’m going to rip your throat out and feast on your corpse’ smile and states they have other business to attend to, wishing me a delightful day by saying ‘I’ll be back for you,’ and nightmare phases away.”

            “Anyway, I head home like a week later, and my human mom meets me at the front door, telling me they’ve met this darling individual that I just had to meet. So I think, ‘Oh, they’ve set me up on another blind date,’ and I’m prepping myself to meet another suitor. And Shadow is sitting in my fucking dining room, devouring my dinner. No idea how they found me. So I pull my mom into the other room under the guise of ‘I have to show you these designs right now, you’re gonna die,’ because we’re actually all about to die a horrible and probably too gruesome to describe death.

            “‘You let this demon hell spawn, who’s running Aku’s army, into our house and fed them dinner? And you want me to meet them?’ She goes on about how nice they are, how they bought and preordered the one toy set my moms loved that no one else was really buying, and how my cyber mom adores them because they just love their cooking. Basically, I’m told that I can either date this abomination straight from the pits of hell or my moms are going to adopt them. So she marches me back in to get to know Shadow, who by this time has consumed an _entire meatloaf_ , which, mind you, usually feeds us two humans for three days.”

            “‘So I guess we’re getting married now?’ I spat. ‘Just as soon as the Samurai’s dealt with,’ they responded. ‘Fuck you,’ I retorted.  They said something like ‘Thanks, but I’ll pass indefinitely.’ And then we started dating. The end.” Francis let out a timid chuckle which morphed into a full blown laugh once BK started.

            “What was the song?” Francis posed, still grinning.

            “Oh, it’s a theme from this game. I thought it was an old game from like 60 or 70 years ago, but turns out it was a game from the 1900s that Shadow knew.”

            “Wait, how old is Shadow?”

            “Like 250? About five times older than I am. Somewhere in there. Their parents are ancient and came from that time, so I guess they just passed it on or Shadow looked into it. Something like that. Since Shadow’s a nightmare demon, they never sleep, so they have a lot of extra free time on their hands. And what sucks for Shadow is that the only person that ever gets all the references is Devin, who was actually born during that time, but then spent a chunk of time nearly frozen to death in a botched cryogenics accident. The only way he survived was because his soul is messed up so that he doesn’t die by normal means. His claim to fame is that his soul is so fucked up that even Demongo doesn’t want it.” They heard footsteps on the stairs.

            “Rest assured though, I really do love Shadow, for more than just the money. They’re something else, but they’re mine, even if I have to fight off their fan club! Listen, you know you can call Shadow anytime you need something, right? We’ll be happy to stop by and help if we can. Or if you just need some time to yourself. Shadow never sleeps, so you won’t be bothering them.”

            “Thank you. I will. And thank you both for coming to check on us.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to Salacious Shipping for allowing me to borrow Francis! You can find more information about their artwork here (https://goo.gl/1t59on) and their Patreon here (https://www.patreon.com/ssnsfw/posts).


	30. Attachment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Francis helps Scaramouche hook up an attachment into his port so they can experiment a bit to see if Scaramouche still has negative associations with sex.

**Attachment**

 

            A gag and the sound of oil spilling in the sink brought Francis running. He skidded to a stop outside of the wash room door. Testing the knob, he found it unlocked. Still, he knocked, waiting for permission to enter.

            Scaramouche stood naked, bent over the sink as he dredged up another mouthful.

            “Mon Amour, what’s wrong?” He stepped to the side, letting Scaramouche see him before he pulled out a cloth and began to wipe away the burnt oil from his lips.

            “I thought maybe I could, babe! It’s been three months. Three!” he shouted angrily, glaring at his own reflection.

            “Try what?” Francis pressed gently, although he already had an idea about what the answer would be.

            “I just wanted to finger myself, babe, but I can’t! I can’t even fucking do that!” The sob brought another mouthful splashing into the sink. When he finished vomiting, he allowed Francis to pull him gently to the floor.

            “It takes time to recover.” Francis shushed the quiet sobs, kissing the oil stained lips as the remnants in his mouth dripped down his chin.

            “Time has passed, babe! How much longer do I have to wait?”

            “I don’t know, Mon Amour. Sometimes it takes a long time.”

            “But you got better so fast after years and years of torture, babe. He had me for less than an hour. It shouldn’t be this bad!”

            “Everyone heals in their own way. You can’t compare yourself to me,” Francis murmured, hugging him tight. _And I’m still not quite right after all this time, but that’s not something you need to worry about now._ “You had a terrible system shock and you have a lot of bad associations. Perhaps you should consider seeing a sex therapist in addition to who you’re seeing now? It might be better to have someone other than me help you since I am part of the bad associations.”

            “No! I don’t want to have sex with anyone else but you, babe!” Francis winced, but continued to hold him tight. _Now’s not the time to think about Regan. That’s not what he meant._ Scaramouche had begun crying again, trying to lock his jaw, but the oil oozed out of the air pipes and dripped from his nose with each sob.

            “I’m sorry, babe,” he whispered after a long time. “That’s not what I meant. I want to go back to the way we were before. And I’m not blaming you! It’s not your fault, babe! Without you, I might be dead, and I’d rather be with you than in the scrapyard.”

            “It’s alright. I know what you meant. Perhaps you could be fit with attachment instead? It may be enough of an override to get you where you want to be.”

            “I have one,” Scaramouche sighed. “It just feels better with my port, babe. Well, it used to. Besides, I don’t know if it will make a difference. I guess we can try, babe. It can’t make it any worse at this point.”

            “Can I make you dinner first, Mon Amour? You’ve lost a lot of oil.”

            “Yeah, I guess I better eat first, babe. I’ll get my attachment and meet you back in here.” With a nod, Francis went to fix a bowl. When he returned, he found Scaramouche scrubbing at the stains, a box on the floor near the door.

            “Take a break and eat. I will finish up.”

            “You do so much, babe! I’ll take care of it later.”

            “Mon Amour, I think you forget how much you did for me when I needed your help.” Scaramouche rolled his eyes as he sat down. Francis pressed a kiss to his forehead as he resumed cleaning up the wash room.

            “You hardly let me do anything then, either, babe. You’re always doing too much for me!”

“            You being there and driving me to my appointments meant the world to me. I do all this because I love you.” Letting a smile flash with his oil stained teeth, Scaramouche began eating the fresh oil to replenish his system. Once Francis finished his job, he retrieved the box and sat beside Scaramouche.

            Scaramouche cast the bowl aside and accepted the box. Francis was impressed that he could remove the attachment hookup as he had been unable to handle Francis’ attachment at all. _Because that’s the one that hurt him._ Scaramouche studied it, gathering the courage to spread his legs apart. He balked the moment he tried to open his port.

            “Babe, I can’t! Will you, please?”

            “I don’t want to hurt you, Mon Amour! What if we go in and –”

            “Please, I want you to do it, babe. Just do it fast!” Francis took the attachment, worrying his lower lip as he lined up the port and attachment. Covering his visor, Scaramouche quietly encouraged him on. He still shrieked when Francis pushed it inside.

            Oil bubbled over his lips as he recoiled. Yet, he managed to reach down and click it into place before falling to his side.

            “Are you hurt? Mon Amour, is it hurting you? Please answer me!” He wrapped the head and shoulders in a loving embrace, sighing in relief as Scaramouche finally uttered that he was not in pain, just startled.

            “It’s actually not too bad, babe,” Scaramouche murmured as he sat back up. “I just overreacted a bit.” His fingers trembled as he went to stroke himself. They grazed the attachment and jerked away as if shocked.

            “Francis, I’m scared! What if this doesn’t work, baby? What if … what if I never go back to normal?”

            “You will!” Francis insisted, rising up on his knees so he could kiss Scaramouche on the lips again. “You will, one day. It may take years, but you will get there! Look how far you’ve come just tonight! You were able to hook up the attachment inside your port!”

            “Will you … will you do the honors, babe?” _At least that way it’ll just be me he has the aversion to. No. Stop. Stop thinking like this._ Francis nodded.

            “But, can you sit in front of me, babe? I need to be able to see you. I’m sorry! It’s just—”

            “I will do whatever you need me to, Mon Amour.” Francis positioned himself between Scaramouche’s legs.

            “Will you hold my hand, babe?” he let out a timid whisper. Francis offered his left hand, holding tight to the two hands that took his.

            “Tell me if it hurts or if you need me to stop. If you have to, kick me out of the way. I’d rather shake off a small hit than do anything that hurts you.” Scaramouche nodded, gripping Francis’ hand tighter.

            Gingerly, Francis ran his fingers on the underside of the attachment. Scaramouche let out a chirp of surprise, but there was not a hint of pain in his voice. He whispered a weak “go on, babe” as Francis drew back. Continuing, Francis pressed his thumb gently about the tip, finding a pleasure center he assumed would be nearby. The legs on either side of him drew closer to Scaramouche, and Francis inquired again to make sure he was okay. He received a quick nod and a shuttering moan.

            Francis tested a few faster strokes, running his fingers from the base to the tip. Although his hand was crushed in Scaramouche’s, the eyes had drifted back into the familiar crescents of pleasure. The quiet whimper was sounding more like a purr of delight. Every ten to fifteen strokes, Francis simply asked if Scaramouche was still okay, happily receiving a nod each time.

            “You’re getting close, Mon Amour,” Francis stated softly. “You don’t have to warn me. I’ll stop when you do cum, just to make sure everything is still alright.” One last nod was granted and Francis smiled as Scaramouche finally began pressing his hips into the strokes.

            Dropping his head, Scaramouche cried out. The artificial fluids splattered on the floor and Francis’ shirt. _No. He wasn’t okay!_ Francis leaned forward, tilting Scaramouche’s chin back up. A thin trail of oil was leaking down from the corners of mouth again.

            “Mon Amour! Are you –”

            “I’m alright, babe. It was … it’s been so long. I just got a little over excited.” He plastered a tired smile on his face. “Thank you, babe. You’re the absolute best.”

~/~

            “Babe, I can’t! I’ll hurt you!”

            “You won’t hurt me, Mon Amour,” Francis insisted patiently as he undid his boots and put them away. “If you happen to get a bit too rough, I would tell you. Let me be on top and I’ll be able to get off quickly if I need to.”

            “But it’s not fair, babe! You can’t feel anything! You don’t need to do this for me.”

            “Perhaps I want you inside of me. It’s true, I won’t feel sexual pleasure, but I enjoy having sex with you regardless. I enjoy pleasuring _you_!”

            “Francis,” Scaramouche took his head in both hands, “You do too much for me. The blowjobs, the hand jobs, everything, babe! It’s enough! I can’t do a fucking thing to return the favor!”

            “I don’t need you to,” Francis covered the hands with his own. “I know that you enjoy it, and I think if you let me ride you, it will feel even better than what we’ve been doing. It will be adding more normalcies to your life. It doesn’t matter to me if I have to wait another five days or five years to resume mutual activities.”

            “You went without for five year after you retired, huh, babe?”

            “Oui, and the only consequence was that I was a little more sensitive the first few times we slept together.” Francis found himself crushed in a tight embrace, returning the gesture with equal passion.

            “If you don’t want to have me ride you, I won’t,” Francis reminded him quietly as Scaramouche pulled them onto the bed.

            “I mean, I do want you to, babe, I just feel guilty. If you want to go and hire someone—”

            “Non. I don’t!” Scaramouche drew back at the harsh tone. “Sorry, it’s just not something I want. I will wait until you’re ready.”

            “But what if I never get to that point, babe?”

            “You will. One day. And if you don’t, that will not bother me either. Lie on your back, Mon Amour.” Complying with a sigh, Scaramouche propped up the pillows underneath his head and unbuttoned his coat. Francis rolled off the bed so he could undress. He moved to the foot of the bed so he could crawl up between Scaramouche’s legs.

            “And you’re sure _you_ want to do this, babe? You know I can take care of myself now,” Scaramouche passed him a devious grin.

            “Oui, I do. I think you’ll enjoy this.” Tentatively, Francis ran his fingers down the semi-limp attachment. He knew where the four pleasure centers were and avoided them for now. Scaramouche tended to only want to orgasm twice with the attachment set up, and Francis wanted to take it slow to give Scaramouche ample time to enjoy his first time being ridden. Once Scaramouche began to purr, Francis murmured he was going to get started. With one hand bracing himself just above Scaramouche’s hips and the other lining up the attachment, Francis lowered himself.

            “Ooh, baby!” Scaramouche sang out. As Francis hoped, Scaramouche could not help but bend his knees and rut up into him. Using both hands to hold onto Scaramouche’s sides, Francis rolled his hips into Scaramouche’s thrusts.

            “Babe! Babe, wait a second! Am I hurting you, baby?” Scaramouche’s hands came up to cup Francis’ hips.

            “Not at all,” Francis smiled reassuringly, letting one hand drift up to tease along Scaramouche’s side.

            “But – but it’s so tight! Oh, Aku! It feels so nice, babe!” Francis adjusted the angle of his hips, taking Scaramouche into him at different positions so he could activate the pleasure centers. He kept his port tight against Scaramouche. _I should go tighter. He would be in bliss and it wouldn’t hurt that bad._ Plastering a fake smile on his face, Francis pulsed his port harder, pleased as Scaramouche’s moans of pleasure started to drift an octave higher in ecstasy. The occasional grunt Francis could not hold in was drowned out as Scaramouche sang in praise. Long fingers clawed at Francis’ hips as if Scaramouche wanted to pull him down faster, but he settled for the tempo Francis set.

            “Francis!” His high pitched shout filled the room as he thrust up one last time. Relaxing his port, Francis let the artificial fluids drip out of him for a moment. Before he dismounted, Scaramouche involuntarily thrust into him again.

            “That’s enough for me, babe,” Scaramouche sighed as he fought against his own desire, pulling Francis off his attachment and onto his chest. “I didn’t hurt you, baby?”

            “You didn’t,” Francis forced a smile and closed his eyes as he snuggled against Scaramouche’s jaw.

            “I still want to do _something_ for you, babe. Anything!”

            “You don’t need to,” Francis murmured, tilting his head back to kiss Scaramouche’s chin.

            “But I want to! I want to so badly, babe! That’s what keeps me up at night. Well, that and the corrupted memories.”

            “Don’t worry about me. One day we’ll get back into the routine.”

            “I want to do something _now_ , babe.” Francis sighed, bringing up a hand to caress his throat.

            “I have an idea that we can try; however, if you look the least bit uncomfortable, I’m going to stop. It may not affect you negatively if we slide our attachments against each other. That will provide enough stimulation for us.”

            “Please, babe! You have to try!” Scaramouche sat up quickly, making sure to hug Francis tight to him lest he fall.

            “Lie down again and spread your legs a bit more so I can sit between them,” Francis commanded gently as he pushed himself out of the embrace. He took his attachment in his own hands and began pumping it.

            “Wait! Babe, STOP!” Scaramouche snapped up to attention, seizing Francis wrist and pulling it away. “Don’t do that!”

            “Relax, Mon Amour. It only hurts when my body realizes it can’t ejaculate. I want to get close so that we can just do a short session.” Reluctantly, Scaramouche released Francis’ wrist.

            “Babe, but what if this doesn’t work? Then you still won’t be able to release.”

            “Then you can restrain me,” Francis chuckled weakly, his left hand curling into a fist as the anti-masturbation circuitry began come into play. A whimper escaped him before he could smother it.

            “Francis, babe,” Scaramouche warned quietly.

            “I’m ready to start. May I?” Scaramouche gave a terse nod as Francis took Scaramouche’s attachment and ran a thumb down the underside.

            “I’m going to slide my attachment against yours. Are you okay?”

            “A little nervous at the results, but try it, babe!” Francis glanced up, seeing that his eyes had pinched together in apprehension as he kept Francis’ attachment in his gaze. Keeping his own body restrained, Francis rested his attachment against Scaramouche’s body. There was a tiny gasp before Scaramouche frantically insisted everything was alright. Gradually, Francis shifted his attachment so it rested on Scaramouche’s, watching as the taller robot’s hands curled into shaking fists.

            “It’s fine, it’s fine, it’s fine, babe!” Each word came out in a quick staccato. Francis leaned forwards to take Scaramouche’s right hand. The fist unfurled to envelope his hand. _I don’t want to do this, but he’s not vomiting._ Sighing, Francis slid his right hand under Scaramouche’s attachment to hold it still. Slowly, he rolled his hips forward, letting the tip of his attachment slide up his lover’s.

            “It’s actually okay, babe,” Scaramouche murmured, his feet twitching as if he wanted to find a purchase and begin rutting against him. Francis let himself emit a soft moan as he ground his hips against Scaramouche’s.

            _This is actually working!_ Except Francis’ premature celebration was shattered as his own fingers grazed his attachment in his rush to increase stimulation. Even Scaramouche could decipher that it was not a moan of pleasure.

            “Babe, what’s wrong? I thought this was supposed to be pleasurable for you!”

            “It is,” Francis insisted through clenched teeth. “I just … my hand is in my way, but I fear it may not be as easy without.”

            “Here, let me—” Scaramouche began reaching forwards, but thought better of it. His free hand recoiled back to his side. “No. No, I can’t, baby. Just … just try without! Maybe we’ll just look a little silly, but that’s okay with me.” Francis tried to go longer, but after his pleasure was interrupted another two times by a misplaced thrust against his fingers and with Scaramouche constant begging, he finally slid the hand holding Scaramouche’s attachment to the taller robot’s side.

            Although the movements were awkward and they constantly had to readjust, Francis found true pleasure starting to build in his system. _If only I could activate a pleasure center. Then I wouldn’t have had to make Scaramouche wait so long for me_ , he lamented as they slid against each other. Squeezing his eyes closed, Francis tried to force himself to cum. He would have to refuse to go further if Scaramouche came first, as his companion would be too sensitive to continue.

            “Babe, you feel so good! I – I missed this. I m-missed being with you, beautiful.” His free hand was clawing at the sheets as he sang out a moan. Francis did not respond, willing himself to finish with every wire in his circuitry. _Please, just get it over with!_ He begged himself, his mouth hanging open as a quick moan forced its way over his lips.

            Finally expelling his load, Francis smothered a quick chirp as he kept he kept grinding their attachments together. He pried open an eye to see if Scaramouche had his closed. The blue had vanished from the visors as Scaramouche’s head lolled back in bliss and relief as the guilt lifted from his shoulders. Satisfied that Scaramouche would likely stay like that for a while longer, Francis never halted his movements to cool his circuits. A sharp wince shot across his face and forced his eye closed as his overstimulated member slid along Scaramouche’s attachment. _He’s enjoying this so much. He looked so pleased!_ Francis reminded himself, encouraging himself to continue in the same manner.

            The circuits in his hips were burning, but Scaramouche sang loudly as he came. Immediately, Francis stopped moving, focusing on holding himself up.

            “Oh, babe!” Scaramouche purred, “That was – oh, Aku! – you’re so amazing!” Francis forced his eyes open just in time to see Scaramouche’s face fall in concern.

            “Are you … are you alright, babe?”

            “Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?” Francis could barely keep his voice even.

            “You just look really … tired? You’re not … that didn’t hurt you, babe, did it? It felt good, right?” Scaramouche sat up, pulling Francis against him as the artificial fluids spilled off his chest and onto the sheets.

            “It wore me out, Mon Amour. The hiatus left me a bit sensitive, but it felt great.” Francis let his eyes droop closed again, not hiding his trembling lips once he was sure the arms wrapped around his shoulders would prevent Scaramouche from seeing it.

            “Let’s go to sleep, babe. We should rest up so we can do this again!”

            “Of course. Whenever you want to, Mon Amour.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to Salacious Shipping for allowing me to borrow Francis! You can find more information about their artwork here (https://goo.gl/1t59on) and their Patreon here (https://www.patreon.com/ssnsfw/posts).


	31. Short

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Francis gets a short and requires medical treatment. It's not a big deal, but Scaramouche is worried, nevertheless.

**Short**

 

            Squinting at the reflection, Francis frowned at the face staring back. _It’s hard to say for sure, but my eyes look as dull as they did last night._

            “I slept most of the night,” he murmured in discontent to the reflection. “I have been sleeping well!” _Something’s wrong. Perhaps if I just take it easy today, it will resolve itself._ He spent a few more minutes than usual brushing his hair. _At least one thing will look decent._

            Without a sound, he crept out of the bedroom, making sure to step on the places where he knew the floor would not creak. Once he made it into the kitchen, he began fixing their breakfast. The return up the stairs was equally as quiet as he balanced the two bowls in his hands. Peering into the bedroom, he saw Scaramouche still sound asleep on his side. Managing to set the two bowls down on the bedside table next to Scaramouche, he called softly.

            “Mon Amour. Mon Amour, it’s time to get up.” The blue orbs appeared as Scaramouche jerked slightly. Once he was sure Scaramouche was awake and aware, Francis leaned down to plant a kiss on his lips. “Good morning, beautiful.”

            “Is it morning already, babe?” he groaned before pulling Francis back onto the bed.

            “Oui. You made it through another night without a corrupted memory.”

            “That makes three nights in a row. A personal best, baby!” Dragging Francis on top of him, he began planting kisses all over his face. Suddenly, he stopped and tilted Francis’ chin up.

            “What’s wrong, Mon Amour?”

            “You look horrible, babe! Did you recharge at all last night?”

            “Oui, I did. All night, actually. I’ll just take it easy today. I should be fine when you come back from training.”

            “Why don’t you rest in my arms, babe? Wouldn’t you sleep better with a big, bad assassin protecting you?”

            “You have training,” Francis reminded him gently as he nuzzled into Scaramouche’s hand.

            “But Shadow likes you, babe. I’m sure they won’t mind if I stay home to take care of you.” His warm smile and gentle kiss on the nose were so comforting, but Francis refused.

            “I don’t want to keep you away from your work. The training seems to be doing you good. You’re resting more soundly and it’s given you a pep in your step, Mon Amour. I would hate to be the cause of you missing a day.”

            “Listen, Francis,” Scaramouche’s jovial tone lost some of the softness. “You’re exhausted. You’ve been doing everything for me, babe. Everything! You need a break. Let me do this for you! Let me take care of you today. Then you can rest, be comfortable, and not worry about anything. Please, babe? It’ll make me feel better.”

            “Fine.” Sighing in defeat, Francis rested his head against Scaramouche’s shoulder. “But just today, Mon Amour. And you need to eat breakfast first.”

            “Thank you, babe!” Francis’ reward was a bundle of kisses pressed to his forehead as Scaramouche readjusted himself to pull the sheets over top of them. Snuggling into the comforting arms, Francis was vaguely aware of Scaramouche murmuring he would text Shadow to let them know before darkness consumed him.

~/~

            The fingers combed through his hair another few times before Francis finally murmured that he was awake.

            “I was about to get ready to go back to bed for the night, babe!” Scaramouche chided, pulling him into a tight hug. Francis pushed himself up after the arms gave him slack. “You were sleeping like a –”

            “Like a what?” Francis forced a grin as he went to lean in for a kiss. His eye brows furrowed in concern as Scaramouche held his head in place. The other hand came up to brush the hair from his face.

            “Babe, you didn’t recharge at all! You look even worse!”

            “Oh non.” With a sigh, Francis lowered his head. _That explains everything. Being so tired the last few days._ “There must be a short again.”

            “How … how bad is that, babe?” Jerking his head back up, Francis was quick to reach a comforting hand up to Scaramouche’s chin.

            “It’s not serious, just time consuming and a little painful to resolve. I just wanted to believe I was only tired. Will you take me into town, please?”

            “Of course! Anything you need, babe?”

            “Oui. I’ll probably need an overnight bag.” Francis pushed the sheets off of them, rolling off the side of the bed. Had Scaramouche not bolted from his relaxed position, Francis surely would have collapsed on the floor.

            “Sorry, Mon Amour,” Francis muttered into the scarf as he was pulled upright. “It’s been a while since I’ve dealt with a short. I forgot how clumsy I became.”

            “Take a seat, baby! I’ll pack us a bag and then we’ll hit the road.”

            “You don’t have to stay,” Francis insisted, perching on the edge of the bed.

            “You think I’m going to leave you all alone in a hospital, babe? I wouldn’t do that!” Too tired to press the matter, Francis just offered a weak smile as Scaramouche threw some belongings in a bag and offered his arm as support. Clutching the arm tightly, they made it down the stairs and to Scaramouche’s bike without incident. Lifting up Francis, Scaramouche situated him in front of him so he could keep an arm securely wrapped around him as they drove.

            Francis felt his eyes slipping closed as Scaramouche raced through the darkening streets. He jolted a few times as he started sagging to one side, but Scaramouche pulled him tight against his chest. Skidding to a stop in front of the hospital in record breaking time, Scaramouche flung the bag over his shoulder before picking up Francis and cradling him in his arms.

            “Mon Amour,” Francis pouted. “I could walk.”

            “This is faster, babe.” The hint of fear in Scaramouche’s voice haunted Francis, but he knew there was nothing he could do at the moment to alleviate it. He shouldered in through the hospital doors, his heels clicking on the bare, tile floors as he approached the front desk.

            “How can I help you?” the robot at the front desk asked pleasantly.

            “I need to see someone. I think there’s a short in my system,” Francis murmured, prying his head away from its resting point. The clerk’s eyes shot open.

            “Yes, you need to see someone right away! I’ll have the next available doctor out to see you.” They slid a tablet across the counter and nodded towards the waiting room chairs. Scaramouche sat them down, resting the end of the tablet on Francis’ arm as he filled out what he could.

            “Can you add your ID number, babe?” Scaramouche pointed at the blank line. Lazy fingers managed to get the number entered on the fourth try. He dragged one finger across in a messy signature that ended with an extra line as his hand fell limply back onto his chest.

            “Are you … are you in pain, babe?” Scaramouche whispered, snugging Francis tighter to him. Francis shook his head before nestling against Scaramouche’s shoulder.

            “Jus’ tired.” Francis could feel his eyes drooping again, and he tried with all his might to keep them open. Still, he was startled when Scaramouche stood again, jerking to attention as Scaramouche explained he had been called back. Scaramouche followed the nurse back, gingerly placing Francis on the examining table. He remained put on the side of the table, clutching Francis’ hand as he worried the still fingers with his own thumb.

            “I’m assuming you’ve had shorts before since you seemed confident on the cause, Francis?”

            “Oui, several. It’s been a while, though. Maybe ten, fifteen years?”

            “I’m looking at your records, but I don’t see any listed.” The nurse frowned as he studied the screen.

            “They were … treated at home,” Francis admitted quietly. The nurse nodded understandingly, adding a note.

            “Do you remember the general location?”

            “I don’t. I’m sorry.”

            “That’s okay! The doctor will be in shortly, and he’ll set you up with a full body scan. Can I ask you to take off your shirt?” The nurse requested as he headed to the door. Francis nodded as the nurse left, accepting Scaramouche’s help to get back up into a seated position. It took a while, but he managed to undo the buttons and pass the garment to Scaramouche. Reclining again, Francis passed a weak smile as he hand was engulfed.

            “You can sit down, Mon Amour. It’s going to be a while. They’ll listen to my critical components to make sure it’s not something more serious, then they’ll probably have to do some sort of full body scan. Once they find the short, they’ll tend to it.”

            “You make it sound like it’s nothing, babe! What if there’s more than one? What if they can’t find it?”

            “Don’t worry, it’s not difficult to deal with nor extremely dangerous if it’s just a short. They can be fixed at home. I can actually do it myself, but I don’t have the right tools anymore.”

            “But you said it’d be painful, baby.” Scaramouche finally dragged the chair close to the table and plopped down on it. He pulled the hand to his lips and kissed the knuckles.

            “More like uncomfortable.”

            “Don’t they put you under? They can’t … they can’t operate while you’re awake, babe! Or … or can they?”

            “You’ve never had a short before, have you?” Passing on a weak smile, he pulled the hands to his own lips to return the sentiment, much to Scaramouche’s discontent.

            “You’ll be okay, babe?”

            “Oui, of course I will. I’ve had shorts before and it’s not a big deal. Just a wasted evening.” _I couldn’t take clients those nights, and LC always knew how to make up for lost time._ Francis felt his arm dragged back to his side and squeezed tighter even as Scaramouche tried to mask his apprehension. His head snapped to the door at the terse knock.

            “Good evening. I would like to start with a preliminary system check before scanning for shorts.” The doctor stepped up to the opposite side where Scaramouche sat, placing six electrodes on Francis chest. Francis could feel his fingers crushed in a death grip, but merely laid still  and forced himself to relax to avoid a false positive. After a few minutes, the reader in the doctor’s hands gave a quiet beep.

            “Well, babe?” Scaramouche barked impatiently.

            “There’s nothing wrong with the critical functions. It’s just a safety check. Usually if a patient suspects it is a short, they are correct. You have not had one before, I presume?” Scaramouche pouted at the question, but released some of the pressure on Francis’ hand as he shook his head.

            “I will have to ask you to leave the room for a few minutes, sir,” the doctor nodded towards Scaramouche.

            “May I ask what for, babe?”

            “We have a family or spouse only policy when discussing patient matters. I just have a few questions I need to ask Francis, and then you may return. Please just step outside the door.”

            “But we’re dating, babe. Doesn’t that count?”

            “I’m afraid not, Mr. Scaramouche. It will only take a few moments.” Begrudgingly, Scaramouche planted one last quick kiss on the back of Francis’ hand before he left the room. Both Francis and the doctor were silent for a moment as they heard the clicking of heels pass back and forth by the door.

            “He is a little wound up with the whole ordeal. We’ve both been stressed about his job. We are dating though. He’s not hiring me,” Francis clarified.

            “I’m just curious as to what caused the short, as they usually don’t develop for any reason. Forgive my prying, but is he putting too much physical strain on your system?”

            “Non. Non, he’s not. He’s very gentle.” Francis could feel his compressors run a little louder in embarrassment, but he ignored them. “I’ve been under more stress than usual. Some nights, I just don’t get a full recharge. He doesn’t hurt me.” The doctor nodded.

            “I’m sorry. I did not mean to imply anything. I was just trying to figure out the root cause. Typically, a short does not develop when only emotional or psychological stress is present. There is usually an extended physical strain that accompanies intangible stress; however, with the age of your system and the design, it is entirely possible it just developed due to the stress.”

            “Based on the dullness of your eyes, it does seem like it has been present for more than a few days,” the doctor indicated.

            “It had been a while since the last one, and I ignored the symptoms,” Francis murmured bashfully. “I will keep better tabs on my health incase another should develop.” The doctor had Francis strip completely before setting up the full body scan. He pulled a sheet over Francis before bidding Scaramouche reentry into the room.

            “I will be back in a few hours to check on the results and to patch the line with the short. Please buzz if you should need anything.” Scaramouche barely waited until the door clicked shut behind the doctor before he began grilling Francis.

            “What did he want, babe? Did he hurt you?”

            “Mon Amour! You are being paranoid,” Francis sighed. “He wanted to know if there was any physical strain on my system, because that’s what usually causes the shorts. Basically, he was asking if we were too rough in bed.” Francis grinned, but Scaramouche seemed appalled.

            “He thinks I’m hurting you?” Scaramouche snapped in outrage. “Baby, no, I love you! I wouldn’t hurt you!”

            “Scaramouche, please. Lower your voice. He wasn’t incriminating you. It’s a typical question to … to ask someone like me. Not all clients are gentle like you. No one expects them to be that way, so it’s a very legitimate question. They just want to know what the cause was to see if they need to do any other follow up. Besides, I have an older system. I don’t have all the short protections because I wasn’t built that way. It likely just sprang up because I’ve had shorts in the past. You should rest now, because I won’t get a good recharge until the short’s taken care of, and I’d much prefer to be curled up at home with you to get back on schedule.”

            “Am I hurting you, though? I’m not really used to the attachment. You’d tell me if I was too rough, right, babe?”

            “Of course I would! It’s not you, Mon Amour. It’s nothing. Now rest!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to Salacious Shipping for allowing me to borrow Francis! You can find more information about their artwork here (https://goo.gl/1t59on) and their Patreon here (https://www.patreon.com/ssnsfw/posts).


	32. Deep Penetration

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scaramouche is feeling more confident using the attachment, although he still begs to do something other than just use Francis' ports.

**Deep Penetration**

 

            Francis smiled up as Scaramouche rocked into him roughly. In between the quiet purrs, Scaramouche returned the grin, caressing Francis’ sides.

            “You feel so wonderful, baby! Are you sure you don’t want –”

            “Not tonight, Mon Amour. Maybe tomorrow.”

            “You said that last night, babe,” Scaramouche sighed, halting his movements so that he could lean forward and tilt up Francis’ chin. “And the two nights before that.”

            “It just seems like a lot of unnecessary hassle, and I’d much rather do this instead.”

            “And you’ll tell me when I can pleasure you again, baby? I want you to feel like you can ask!” Francis nodded, bringing up a hand to trace Scaramouche’s jaw.

            “I will. You may keep going.” Scaramouche began thrusting, his attachment dragging against the top of the port. It scraped hard as Francis wrapped his arms around Scaramouche. His expression never wavered, regardless of how rough each thrust was. _I need to readjust my legs. He’s coming in at such a weird angle tonight. At least he’s finally more willing to do what he wants._ Distracted by his own thoughts, Francis failed to hold in a short cry.

            “Babe! Did I hurt you?”

            “Oh non, Mon Amour. You just … came in a strange angle. Let me rollover so we can adjust.” Scaramouche backed away as Francis rolled to his knees. He encouraged Scaramouche to continue as he waited on all fours. Chewing his lip, he did not make a sound as Scaramouche pressed in again. Instead, he rocked back into him, tensing his port against the attachment.

            “Ooh, baby! Aaha, you feel s-so good!”

            “You can go harder if you want, Mon Amour. This is a better position for me.” _He didn’t need to be told twice tonight_ , Francis found himself smiling again as he held in a grunt. Their hips met with each thrust as Scaramouche sped his pace. With another burst of praise and pleasure, Scaramouche came hard.

            “You should go again when you’re ready.”

            “Do you need a break or anything, babe? “ Scaramouche pulled out so he could clean the mess with a cloth.

            “I’m fine, Mon Amour.” Scaramouche returned after a few more minutes.

            “And you’re sure I’m not being too rough, babe?”

            “Absolutely positive.”

            “‘Cause you’re still getting shorts, babe! It just doesn’t seem right to me.”

            “I’m not as young as you are. Plus we have a different build. I told you that you don’t need to be concerned about them.”

            “I know. I guess because this the first time I’ve seen you have a few, it just leaves a bad taste in my mouth, babe. And you’re sure you’re up for a round two?”

            “Oui. Keep going to your heart’s content,” Francis insisted as he gritted his teeth and pressed his face into the pillow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to Salacious Shipping for allowing me to borrow Francis! You can find more information about their artwork here (https://goo.gl/1t59on) and their Patreon here (https://www.patreon.com/ssnsfw/posts).


	33. Past Performance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scaramouche insists that Francis should be pampered for a day, and Francis gives in.

**Past Performance**

 

            Scaramouche’s fingers slipped easily through Francis’ hair. All the tangles had long since been brushed out as Francis continued to soak in the wash basin with his hair dangling over the side. After quite a bit of insistence from his taller companion, he had allowed Scaramouche to talk him into a spa day. He tried not to think about how much Scaramouche had spent on him. _It’s my fault though. If I could just figure out how to stop getting so many shorts, he wouldn’t be doing this._

            “Are you treating each hair individually, Mon Amour?” Francis finally murmured.

            “I just like playing with your hair, babe! Are you getting bored?”

            “Non, I was just teasing you. I know you enjoy styling it. That’s why I take the braids out so often, so you can do another one.”

            “Aw, thanks, babe! I thought you just didn’t like sleeping in them.” He leaned past his work and planted a kiss on Francis’ cheek. “Besides, you never let me put conditioner in your hair, so I want to make sure it holds until the next time you can stomach a lazy afternoon, baby.” _He loves this. I wish I could enjoy it as much as he does._ They were quiet, save for an occasional melody Scaramouche would hum quietly. Francis let his eyes close, longing to completely relax and be putty under Scaramouche’s treatment.

            “Hey, babe?” the hands massaging his scalp snuck over his shoulders to work through the chest hair for a moment. A simple noise of encouragement ensued before Scaramouche continued.

            “Can I ask you about your work, babe? Before bounty hunting?”

            “That’s not much of a conversation topic, but go ahead,” Francis allowed with a slight shrug. _Also not exactly the type of relaxing table talk I would choose at this time._

            “If you don’t want to, babe, we can talk about something else. I just realized I don’t know a lot about what you did, you know?” _Nor do I know about your past._ Francis bid him to continue.

            “What … what was it like, babe?”

            “Clients would draw up a contract with my creator and rent me out for a few hours or the whole night.” The hands lingering on his chest slipped back to his head, but Francis could see they were trembling.

            “Every night, babe?”

            “Most nights, oui. Not all night though. Sometimes it was only for a few hours.”

            “Did they hurt you, baby?” His voice had gone unexpectedly quiet and his hands stilled. Francis answered with a sigh.

            “Oui. Some did.” Scaramouche returned to his self-appointed task in silence. Francis could sense Scaramouche had more questions, but had not desire to pry.

            “How badly did they hurt you, babe?” Scaramouche finally pressed on.

            “I’m still here, aren’t I, Mon Amour? It was all repairable. Most was only slightly inconveniencing. Why so many questions?”

            “I was just doing some research on shorts and your occupation, babe,” Scaramouche admitted after a long pause. “I just was curious about your experience.”

            “And the frequency of my shorts are really bothering you,” Francis supplied the rest of his concerns.

            “Yeah, babe. It just doesn’t make sense.  One every other week? Everything I’m seeing says they’re caused by physical stress. I’m not seeing any bounty hunting injuries, so everything points at me, babe! It looked like a lot of people who had retired, like you, no longer had shorts, but you’re letting me fuck you every day.”

            “There is the small percentages of shorts that just occur without reason,” Francis stated. _I’ve done my own research, Mon Amour._ “Perhaps I am just one of the few unlucky ones that just has recurring shorts. We bought the equipment to deal with them, and I’m making sure to catch them before they fully develop. You don’t have to worry about them anymore.”

            “I’m still going to fret over you, ‘cause I love you, baby.” Another kiss was pressed to his lips before Scaramouche began drying off the excess conditioner from his hands and helping Francis out of the wash basin.

~/~

            Francis sobbed quietly, pulling his knees to his chest. _Scaramouche is right. It is physical stress on my system. But it’s not his fault. I just have to ignore it. As soon as I readjust to the work, they’ll stop like before. I went the last few years without any shorts. I just need to strengthen my system again._ Yet Francis felt the foul oil in his throat and tried to swallow it down. His false illusions had been destroyed, and he could no longer convince himself it was just a rare occurrence. Pulling himself back to his feet, he leaned over the sink and vomited. He stepped away, resting heavily against the wall and sliding to the ground.

            “Francis, babe?” Francis started,  jumping to his feet as the washroom light flicked on. “Hey, baby, what’s wrong?”

            “Nothing. You should go back to bed. You have training tomorrow.” Disregarding the command, Scaramouche rushed over to Francis and engulfed him into a hug. Francis tried to pull out of the embrace, but made no leeway.

            “I upset you today, didn’t I, babe? With all the questions?”

            “I’m just tired, Mon Amour. Really, it’s nothing.”

            “You don’t have to lie to me, babe.” Scaramouche released his hold, stroking the top of Francis head. “You can tell me anything. I promise that I won’t get mad.”

            “I realized what’s causing the shorts,” Francis whispered, feeling his knees going weak as he wanted to dispel the burnt oil again. The arms tightened around him to make sure he remained standing.

            “I’m being too rough, aren’t I, babe? You could have told me.”

            “No, it’s not you. I’m … I’m doing it to myself. It’s my fault. I just … I didn’t realize it until you really made me think about it.” Pressing a hand to his mouth, Francis pushed away and sidestepped Scaramouche so that he could contain the mess to the sink. When he had finished, Scaramouche pulled him down to the floor so that Francis could curl up in his lap.

            “I don’t understand. You’re hurting yourself, babe?”

            “I’m putting too much pressure on my system when we make love. I’m pulsing too tightly and going too long when we slide our attachments together. I don’t want you to feel like a sex bot.”

            “I don’t, though,” Scaramouche insisted awkwardly. “Why would you think I felt that way, baby?”  He tightened his arms around Francis’ bare back before reaching up to untie his scarf.

            “Because of what he said,” Francis spat.

            “Aw, baby! I don’t even remember anything he said after he interrogated me.”

            “But I do! I remember every fucking thing he said! I just … I wanted to remind myself where I belonged. Who I am supposed to be.”

            “You’re not a sex bot anymore, babe,” Scaramouche murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of Francis’ head before he looped the scarf over Francis’ shoulders. After brushing his hair out of the way, Scaramouche tied it loosely around Francis’ throat. “You’re retired. You don’t have to prove anything to me.”

            “It’s how I’m built! It’s what I am.”

            “You’re a bounty hunter. A very good and patient one, if I might add, babe. I guess I didn’t tell you, but I wasn’t built to be an assassin. I’m a musician at my core. That would explain a lot, huh, babe?”

            “I’m so sorry that I keep hurting you. I don’t know how to … how to be a better robot for you. I tried to make you go find someone else. Someone else who won’t hurt you like I do. I knew every second that I was pushing myself too far was wrong, but I did it anyway! Scaramouche, I never deserved you, and it’s my fault that Magnus hurt you so much!”

            “Shh! No, no, no, no, no, no, babe! It is _not_ your fault. If anyone’s, it’s mine, because I took you along when I shouldn’t. But the real person to blame is Magnus. He should have never have sent me on a single mission, but I went along with it, because I wanted to gain all three of the generals’ favor.” Scaramouche pulled him tight to his chest.

            “I never realized how bad this ordeal hurt you, babe. I wish you would tell me when something bothers you,” Scaramouche murmured. “I can’t tell like you can when somethings wrong.”

            “I didn’t want to hinder your recovery. I never meant to hurt you at all. I thought that maybe if I ignored it, it would just stop bothering me. I could have dealt with the shorts. I would have been fine.” Feeling the oil in his throat again, Francis let out a whimper before pulling a hand to his mouth.

            “I should have known it wouldn’t have worked,” Francis lamented behind his fingers. “It didn’t work last time, and it’s never worked before. I don’t know why I think that way! I want to never mention anything, because talking about it makes it real, even though I know keeping it to myself hurts me even worse.”

            “Oh, Aku! I think I’m relapsing back again. It’s why I’m so scared to be with you, Mon Amour. I’m too unstable for a long term relationship with you. I don’t want you to suffer because of me.”

            “Let’s go back to your therapist, babe. Please? I’ll go with you, if you want.”

            “Okay. We can schedule it around your training and –”

            “Babe,” Scaramouche interjected. “We’ll go when you need to. Your wellbeing is a hell of a lot more important than my job. We can always make it bounty hunting.”

            “I can’t thank you enough for all you do for me,” Francis sighed.

            “You’re always there for me, babe. It’s the least I can do to return the favor. You’ve been there to comfort me after every corrupted memory, holding my hand every step of my recovery. How could I not do the same for you, baby?  Come on. Let’s go get some more oil back in your system and try to get some rest.” Scaramouche rose to his feet, taking Francis up in his arms. He eased Francis into the kitchen chair as he started heating a small pot of oil. Unable to sit still, Francis worried the hem of the scarf between his fingers. The bowl placed in front of him provided a distraction from his thoughts. When he had finished, Scaramouche led them into the adjacent living room to snuggle into the arm chair.

            “Do you want your scarf back now?” Francis murmured.

            “Why don’t you wear it a bit longer, babe? I thought it might make you feel better. I can wrap my coat around us, too, because I know you’re more content under a blanket.”

            “This is enough, Mon Amour. Thank you.”

            “Listen, is there anything I can do so that you feel like you can talk to me, babe? I know I can be scary sometimes, but I don’t want you to feel that way!”

            “It’s something that’s wrong with me. I feel so safe and comfortable with you. Maybe I’m just wired to not want to open up to anyone. I was discouraged from talking to others about what bothered me and to just ignore all the pain and stress for so long. Even with the therapy before, I don’t think I ever got over it.”

            “If there’s anything I can ever do for you, babe, I will! I’ll always be here for you! I love you with every wire in my body!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to Salacious Shipping for allowing me to borrow Francis! You can find more information about their artwork here (https://goo.gl/1t59on) and their Patreon here (https://www.patreon.com/ssnsfw/posts).


	34. Testing Out the New Couch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scaramouche surprises Francis with a new couch and a blowjob.

**Testing Out the New Couch**

 

            “The couch is nice,” Francis murmured. Lazy fingers stroked through his hair as he continued to rest on top of Scaramouche.

            “Were you surprised, babe?”

            “Oui. I had no idea that’s why you stayed home.” Francis had made a quick trip into town to replenish supplies. He paid no attention to the moving truck he passed coming and going. There were neighbors and he would have sworn on his life it was a delivery for one of them.

            “I’ve been waiting for weeks to get the opportunity, baby,” Scaramouche smirked. “It’ll look nice when we get the walls repainted. I think we should hire Shadow out.”

            “Shadow’s not going to come out and paint for us. They have better things to do.” Francis chuckled at the idea.

            “But they’re always repainting their mansion, babe. I think BK says the walls bleed or something.” Francis’ knitted his eyebrows.

            “The walls bleed?”

            “Yeah, sometimes this blood like liquid just starts streaking down the walls. The place is possessed or something by a psychopath. I don’t remember what the issue was exactly, babe. Anyway, Shadow’s too cheap to hire someone, so they just do it themselves.”

            “I still highly doubt they’ll work on home improvement projects for us.”

            “We could get on their calendar, babe,” Scaramouche tried one last time. Francis just snorted as he nuzzled into the coat.

            “In other news, do you think we should perhaps make sure the couch is long enough? I know that was your complaint about the old one.”

            “You know I’d love to, baby, but –”

            “It would just be a blowjob. I swear. Nothing fancy, nothing that hurts me,” Francis was quick to add. _Please. It’s been a month. Let me do something for you again._

            “Alright, babe,” Scaramouche caved. “I know you’ve been asking to for a while.” Francis  pushed himself backwards until he rested between Scaramouche’s legs. Teasingly, he slid the coat fabric out of the way, running his fingers lightly over the plates near the attachment.

            “Seems like the couch is long enough,” Francis stated, resting his cheek against Scaramouche’s leg rather than start.

            “Babe, please,” Scaramouche scolded, “Don’t tease me like this.”

            “I always make it worth the wait, don’t I, Mon Amour?” Yet, Francis went to work. He lowered his head to the tip, starting with a soft kiss to the pleasure center just below the tip. The tip of his tongue skated along the underside, starting at the seam and bringing the attachment standing to attention. Francis let it slide past his lips as he suckled the first two centimeters. There was a gentle purr of delight as Scaramouche reclined against the arm of the couch.

            Bobbing his head, Francis took the full length into his mouth. His tongue pressed against the pleasure centers, drawing out another pleased moan. Francis continued on until Scaramouche sang out and filled his mouth with the artificial fluids.

            “Babe, I want to return the favor!” Scaramouche let out a small gasp as Francis kissed the tip of his attachment.

            “You don’t have to,” Francis reminded him as Scaramouche sat up to pull Francis on top of him.

            “I know, baby, but I want to try. I can’t keep being scared forever. It’s been months. You and I both know it, babe.” Francis nuzzled back into the coat, not able to come up with a good response to the rehashed conversation.

            “Let me at least try, babe! Please?” Scaramouche begged, and Francis could not help but pity him. With a nod, Francis pulled out of the loose embrace, and leaned against the opposite couch arm. Lowering his pants, he left himself exposed.

            A worrying shutter shot through Scaramouche’s body as he repositioned himself between  Francis’ legs. Fear was sparkling in his visor as he gazed longingly at Francis’ attachment. Unable to think of anything comforting to say, Francis sat up just enough to kiss the top of Scaramouche’s head. The blue eyes disappeared as Scaramouche dipped his head closer.

            The second his lips grazed the tip, Scaramouche jerked away. Francis could tell he was about to be sick and tried to move away so as not to further Scaramouche’s discomfort.

            “W-wait, babe! Let me try again. Please! I w-want—” He snapped his mouth shut and tilted his head back as a last ditch attempt to swallow down the oil. Francis dug out a cloth and reached up to press it to his lips. After a moment, Scaramouche pushed his hand away, the cloth only slightly stained as Scaramouche managed to keep the majority down. Without a complaint, Francis allowed Scaramouche to press his hips flat on the couch again.

            Undeterred, he kept trying. Each attempt made him shy away until he finally managed to fight down the negative associations and keeps his lips pressed to the very tip. A timid tongue darted out to touch the underside, but quickly retreated back into his mouth as he let out a whimper.

            “Mon Amour, you’ve made so much progress!” Francis beamed, holding perfectly still so as not to activate Scaramouche’s flight response. A cry lodged in Scaramouche’s throat was the only response. Both stayed unmoving for a few minutes as Scaramouche’s fingers held tightly to Francis’ hips. Finally, Scaramouche forced his lips apart.

            The strangled cry was louder now that his mouth was open, but Scaramouche held his position. Francis winced in sympathy as he felt a liquid dripping down the underside of his attachment. The tongue darted around the foreign object, just glancing off of the tip.

            “I’m sorry, babe!” Scaramouche pushed away, curling up on the far side of the couch as he pressed a hand to his mouth. “Let me – hold on, baby! I’ll come back –”

            “Not right now, Mon Amour! You’ve done so much.” Francis redressed, crawling back on top of Scaramouche and pulling him tight. “I’m so proud of you!”

            “I can’t imagine you enjoyed –” Scaramouche’s lament was interrupted as his phone rang. “Oh! It’s BK, babe. She’ll probably want to talk to you too, babe.” After another two rings while Scaramouche calmed himself, he finally answered.

            “Hey, babe! How are you?”

            “Doing pretty well. Yourself?”

            “I’m fine, babe. I’ve got Francis here with me.” Francis and BK exchanged greetings before getting down to business.

            “So, on a scale of one to enraged Shadow, how angry would you be if an upright piano suddenly manifested in your living room? And by suddenly, I mean probably in a few days.”

            “A negative ten, babe! Is Shadow buying another piano?”

            “Well apparently they’re actually stealing them.”

            “Except they’re too lazy to do it themselves,” Devin’s voice chimed in the background on BK’s side.

            “They’re busy,” BK sighed. “Besides, you’re on the shit list again and Shadow’s ready to collect, so just deal with it.”

            “Busy doing actual work or just _busy_?” Devin pressed before muttering something incomprehensible.

            “Actual work. I messaged Ophion and he said Shadow’s dealing with a rebel camp. He also said that the piano we’re stealing better not end up at his house. Apparently two is enough. Oh, Devin, he also invited us over to dinner sometime. He said he’d prepare his worst poison for you.” Devin huffed in the background as the robots grinned.

            “We’d be happy to take it off your hands, babe! Say, what’s Shadow’s calendar look like? Any chance we can get a paint job done?”

            “Scaramouche!” Francis kicked at his companion’s leg and leveled him with a glare.

            “Probably? If we play some cards right, maybe I can push them a little harder to get your vacation approved and send Shadow over then.”

            “We’re in!” Devin announced. “Got the security cameras looping and alarms off. After you, my dear.”

            “It’s that one, in the back right. You can’t get to Francis’ house, can you?”  
            “No, not from here. Haven’t been to his house and I can’t picture the area. You’ll have to get the Tyrant to deliver. We can store it at MB’s house if you can’t stand a sixth.”

            “First of all, stop calling him that. Second, he slightly raised his voice and demanded that we stop storing pianos over there.”

            “Yes, but he’s out of town for a month and I can apparate to about ten different rooms there, piece of cake.”

            “Everything you just said concerns me greatly. How do you even know any of that?”

            “He’s got so many rooms that he never notices. I always take the last one upstairs. I just pop in when I need a fluffy carpet to sleep on. And I checked his calendar for his whereabouts.” Devin paused and let out a shout of joy. “He should pay me for watching his house! Oh, and you might want to tell him that he is completely out of alcohol and he should pick up some when he comes home. The wine was good, but the tequila was better.”

            “We’ll discuss this later,” BK sighed, returning her attention to the robots. “Anyway, Shadow’ll be over sometime next week with your piano. I don’t know if the bench will be at the right height for you, Scaramouche, so you two might want to build something. I’ll text the measurements. See ya later!” Francis and Scaramouche bid them a goodbye.

            “I do feel kind of accomplished, babe,” Scaramouche purred as he climbed on top of Francis and forced him flat on his back. Pressing their lips together, he let his tongue linger in Francis’ mouth before breaking away to finish his thought. “I got you a new couch, we’ll have a new piano, and we’re one step closer to taking that vacation I promised you a long time ago. Plus, your living room will be nice and bright when we get back, baby!”

            “You’re enjoying this remodeling project too much, Mon Amour,” Francis smiled.

            “You know what I’d like even more, babe? Your thick attachment pumping fluids down my throat!” Yet, a hint of apprehension flashed across his face as he leaned in for another kiss.

            “I know you want to, and you got far tonight,” Francis sighed, hardly comforted by the kisses Scaramouche was bestowing on him. “But your reaction worries me! Just like how you don’t want to fuck me, I’m worried about letting you do anything for me.”

            “Let me just try again and … and if I get sick at all, I’ll stop! Please, babe?” Hating himself for caving, Francis nodded his permission to the pleading eyes. Between his thanks, Scaramouche kissed him. The timid hands made it back town to Francis’ waist, toying with the button until Francis realized he was still too nervous to strip Francis himself. Breathing a “here, let me” into Scaramouche’s mouth, he brushed the fingers out of the way and released his attachment. The fingers had retreated to the side of his hips, digging hard into the frame.

            A deep kissed was pressed to Francis’ lips. Wishing he could just hold Scaramouche in that position, Francis allowed his arms to fall away from the tight hug he had wrapped Scaramouche in as Scaramouche made his way between Francis’ legs. At once, Scaramouche pressed a kiss to the tip of the attachment.

            His entire body tensed, and he recoiled, fingers nearly denting Francis’ frame. Smothering the yelp, Francis tried to be reassuring, offering an encouraging smile and reaching forward to stroke Scaramouche’s jaw. Pressing into the gesture, Scaramouche let his head rest against the gentle hand before swallowing the tip again. The strangled noises were half the volume as the first time, but still rang deafeningly in Francis’ head.

            Scaramouche sank another centimeter. His tongue swirled about the tip, not activating the pleasure center, but merely examining. A louder cry of discomfort left Scaramouche. Francis begged him to stop, yet Scaramouche stubbornly refused, having not become sick.

            Managing to make it halfway down Francis’ attachment, Scaramouche finally backed away. His eyes tilted into sad triangles before he threw himself across Francis. The tight hug let the apology die on his lips as Francis shushed his sobs.

            “You will get there, Mon Amour. You are so strong and so brave. Rest now, Mon Amour. You have done so much tonight.” It only took a few minutes for the arms around Francis to loosen as Scaramouche drifted off to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to Salacious Shipping for allowing me to borrow Francis! You can find more information about their artwork here (https://goo.gl/1t59on) and their Patreon here (https://www.patreon.com/ssnsfw/posts).


	35. Vacation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scaramouche finally gets permission to take a week off and take Francis on the vacation he promised him, yet Francis can't seem to stay out of trouble when he runs into Regan.

**Vacation**

_He's staring again. It's getting to the point where he doesn't even try to hide it._ Francis hugged Scaramouche closer to him, slightly relieved when Scaramouche reciprocated. With his head snug against Scaramouche's shoulder and nestled under the taller robot’s arm, he forced himself to relax. _It's a vacation. It's supposed to be fun, he_ reminded himself _. And I agreed to this._

 Finally having the chance and desire to go on vacation, Scaramouche had jokingly suggested a nude beach. Francis had agreed hesitantly, trying to make the idea more appealing as he teased that they would not have to pack as much. Doing his research, Scaramouche found a place with other activities should Francis not feel as comfortable once they arrived. Francis did manage to go out and lie on a blanket with Scaramouche, but he had donned a pair of shorts for modesty sake.

 "You know, babe, you must be the handsomest one here,” the languid murmur was directed into the top of his head.

"Oh? What makes you say that?"

 "Everyone keeps staring. They can't keep their eyes off you, baby.” Francis let himself chuckle quietly.

“I don’t think that’s the reason, Mon Amour. They’re trying to figure out why you’re out here with me rather than back in our hotel room.”

“Do people still think that, babe?” Scaramouche sighed, resting his head against the top of Francis’ head.

“Not at the bar we went to last night! I don’t think they’ll ever forget that we’re dating after what you did to them.”

“Mm, I even took it easy on them, babe. I still think you’re the handsomest one here.”

“What does that make you? A close second?”

“I’ll take a close second to you, babe.” Francis allowed himself to smile, pretending to readjust as he threw a look over his shoulder.

“Do you think you could finger the top of my shorts? We can really make that robot over their squirm.”

“Look at you, babe, taunting everyone.” Francis heard the smirk, but grinned into the shoulder as he felt the tips of Scaramouche’s fingers slide down his back and toy with the waistband. “He looks like he’s about to blow a fuse.”

“Oh, that would be _horrible._ ” Francis gingerly looped his top leg over Scaramouche’s nearest leg after he slid his foot down the long leg. “Perhaps I should take off the shorts to put him out of his misery?”

“I know I wouldn’t mind, babe.”

“Mm, I think it’s just the mimosas talking. You can keep playing with the waistband though.”

“Actually, I’d rather keep him jealous, babe.” Scaramouche sat up suddenly and rolled to his feet. He tied one of the smaller towels around his waist before he swept Francis into his arms. “I know he’s been staring at you for a while, baby, and you seemed a bit uncomfortable. Let’s go in for a bit, see what kind of trouble we can get into.”

“I’d like that, Mon Amour.” He pulled Scaramouche’s head down to press a lingering kiss to his lips before they headed back towards their hotel on the beach.

~/~

 _That can’t be him, can it?_ Francis backed up a few steps into an alleyway after checking to make sure it was clear to stay out of sight. Resting his right hand on his dagger, he watched as a third person stepped up in front of Regan and his companion.

 _And that doesn’t seem like just a normal bout of introversion anxiety._ Regan’s companion had stepped in front of his employer, visibly nervous as he puffed out his chest to appear bigger. It only took one strike from the leader of the other group to draw Francis from his hiding spot.

Dashing down the sidewalk and darting into the street, Francis kept his eyes trained on the group. Regan had tentatively thrown himself between his injured companion, evidently trying to persuade the other three to discuss the issue rationally, but he his efforts proved unsuccessful as one of the other three harassers delivered a sharp kick to Regan’s leg. As he crumpled to the ground, Francis was finally close enough to dive into his own counter attack. He tackled the leader of the group before rolling to his feet and drawing his swords.

“Leave him alone!” Francis demanded, glaring at each of them in turn.

“Look at that, Fred,” the robot that had attacked Regan scoffed. “Regan’s got all the sluts in town working for him.”

“This is your last warning,” Francis growled.

“Or what? You’re going to stab us with your little butter knives? That first attack was nothing. You just got lucky because my back was turned.  I suggest you move on unless you’re looking to offer us a free gangbang tonight. We’re not interested in you.” Fred brushed the dust from his pants from where Francis had tackled him as he gave Francis ten seconds to make a decision.

“Alright, boys. I guess we’ve found our entertainment for after we deal with Regan. You two take care of him however you’d like to. I’ll secure Regan.”

“’Appy to, Fred,” the third grinned as he twisted the wrists on both oversized gauntlets. The crackling electricity nearly made Francis draw back, but with a quick shake of his head, he threw himself forward. A couple of ducking sidesteps allowed him to get beside the third harasser safely. _I’ll have to thank Scaramouche later for using me as his practice partner_ _and teaching me new techniques._ His sword sliced through one arm, leaving the third howling as he stared at the oil spouting stump. With a swift kick to the back of  his knees, Francis grounded the third before turning his attention to the second.

A lunge in the direction of the other harasser sent him backing away. He did not even try to put up a fight before he turned tail and ran. Fred, shocked at the turn of events, also moved back from Regan when Francis turned his sights to him. Taking the idea from the second harasser, he bolted.

“Get out of here before I decide to kill you,” Francis sneered as the third picked up his severed hand and slowly stood up with oil dripping down his face. As if dazed, he finally turned and staggered after the other two. Shoving the swords back into the sheathes, Francis knelt between Regan and his companion.

“Francis! You are a godsend!” Regan exclaimed, pulling him into a hug and planting a kiss on his cheek.

“Please don’t,” Francis murmured before pushing him back. “Scaramouche will be looking for me. How badly are you both hurt?”

“My leg has been damaged,” Regan admitted. “And he’s been knocked out, but I don’t know how severe it was. They jolted his system pretty badly.” Francis’ musings on how he would get them both to the nearest facility for repairs was interrupted.

“I was wondering where you were, babe!” Scaramouche bounded over, passing a cursory glance at the two beside Francis before studying Francis more closely to search for injuries.

“Can you help me get them to a clinic? Please, take him quickly,” Francis gestured to Regan’s companion. “We don’t know how badly he’s injured.”

“Of course, baby! I’ll come back as soon as I can to help you with …” He trailed off, nodding towards Regan, waiting for a name.

“Thank you, Mon Amour! We’ll be right behind you!” Scaramouche stooped down pull the unconscious robot into his arms before he hurried down the street, consulting his phone to find the nearest center.

“Can you walk?” Francis asked in vain, looking at the damage. Regan confirmed Francis’ suspicions as he failed to get to his feet on his own. By looping his right arm over Francis’ shoulders, Regan was able to be pulled to his feet, although he cried out if any weight was placed on his right leg. Slowly, they made a three legged trek in the direction Scaramouche had disappeared.

“I am very much in awe at how you handled those three hooligans. You seem so gentle by nature.”

“Scaramouche has been teaching me some self-defense maneuvers,” Francis supplied carefully. _It’s probably best not to let him know about the bounty hunting._ “Why were they after you?”

“I cannot give you many details, but I can tell you that they were not satisfied by the results of a trade. They feel that I did not secure a fair deal for all parties involved. I’m sorry, but that’s all I can say.” Regan came to a stop, resting his head on Francis’ shoulder. “I do apologize, but I need to rest. I’m not accustomed to this pain.”

“Let me carry you,” Francis insisted.

“After all you’ve done for us today, I don’t want to strain your system.”

“It will be fine.” Making sure Regan still had a grip on his shoulder to keep pressure off his right leg, he knelt before him, gingerly wrapping his arms behind Regan’s knees. Rising to his feet slowly, Francis balanced himself and ensured he was not injuring Regan further.

“You are incredibly strong. Are you sure you do not just want to wait and call for a ride?”

“It’s not too far.” Francis continued on.  The thundering footfalls behind him gave Francis a start. He glanced back to see Fred leading four other robots that were much more menacing than the other two Francis had chased off.  Francis ran.

His slight lead was abolished quickly as one of the new band threw a bola at his feet. Falling face first into the sidewalk, Francis tried to break the fall with one arm as he tried to protect Regan from the brunt of the impact. Pulling out his dagger, he cut through the rope, but knew his chance of outrunning them was destroyed. With only a few seconds lead and a weight hindrance, Francis ducked into the alley a few meters away, backing Regan into a corner so that the hoard Fred controlled could not get behind them.

Francis drew his swords again and forced on his sternest expression. The five robots blocked the mouth of the alleyway, each armed with a different weapon.

“Not looking so tough now, are you, slut? I did tell you not to interfere, so I hope you’re looking forward to being well used by each of these fine gentlemen.” Fred nodded them forward.

“Not as much as I am anticipating running each of you through with my sword,” Francis spat, pleased with how confident he sounded. He held his ground as the first wave went after him, holding them off for a solid minute.

His swords were wrestled away. He ducked a swing and sidestepped another lunge in his direction as he pulled out his dagger. Two different robots cried out in pain as he landed a few good hits before he was finally pulled to the ground.

Three of Fred’s gang easily pinned him to the ground, with one securing each leg and the other pulling his arms back at an unnatural angle. Fred grabbed a fistful of hair and jerked Francis’ head back so that he met eyes with Fred.

“I’ll admit it, slut. You put up one hell of a fight. I’m looking forward to seeing what else you have to offer.” Francis did not even whimper as he felt hands at his hips tearing at his pants. The button gave way and the robots holding his legs had his pants pooled at his knees in seconds. “Don’t worry about Regan. He’s not going anywhere. Who’s first?”

“She stabbed me in the leg,” the only one not pinning him down snapped. “I’ll show her how it feels to be stabbed in the ass!” Francis was pulled up to his knees, his top half held up by Fred and the one holding his arms. Regan had begun to quietly sob, having softly begged them to stop as he seized up in fear. A soft grunt was forced past his pursed lips as the robot entered him hard. The attachment scraped hard against the port walls, but Francis swallowed down any other noise of discomfort.

“If you’re not going to scream for us, I guess I’ll just keep your mouth busy.” With his free hand, Fred undid his own pants before forcing open Francis’ jaw. He kept his hand wedged against the jaw hinge to prevent Francis from biting him.

 _Just pretend he’s a client,_ Francis calmed himself. _Let him trust you._ Francis wasted no time performing the service he had been accustomed to for so many years. He bobbed his head forward, sucking roughly as he teased with his tongue. In less than thirty seconds, he had found and activated all three pleasure centers.

“And here I thought we were going to have problems with you, slut,” Fred purred, thrusts matching Francis’ pace. He made the mistake Francis was waiting for.

Both of Fred’s hands were tangled in Francis’ hair. Bobbing his head a few more times, Francis deep throated him, his nose pressed against the frame as he continued to tease a pleasure center with his tongue. Suddenly, he latched his teeth as close to the seam as he could get them and jerked his head to the side. The attachment came away, damaging the hookup area as it was pulled out at an unnatural area. Fred let out an earsplitting scream as he staggered back. In his haste, the robot holding Francis’ arms lost his grip.

Snagging his dagger from the ground, Francis resumed fighting. One leg was freed when he made a wild swing towards his right leg. Kicking the rapists off of him, he managed to jerk his pants back up and roll to his feet. Help had also arrived.

Within a minute, Scaramouche laid waste to all five as Francis ducked away from the fight to check on Regan. He sat heavily on the ground, hugging Regan’s head to his chest and shielding his eyes so he did not have to see the massacre. A steady flow of oil dripped from Regan’s mouth as his entire body trembled.

Anger still flashed in Scaramouche’s eyes as he glared at the mutilated bodies around them. Francis shushed Regan’s sobs as Scaramouche knelt next to Francis.

“Did they hurt you, babe?”

“Not severely. Can you carry him?” he nodded towards Regan. “I’m not hurt, but a little shaken.” Regan continued to whimper as Scaramouche scooped him out of Francis’ arms. Scaramouche walked briskly as Francis jogged alongside of him.

~/~

“Did you get a hero’s welcome when you went back to talk to him, babe?” Scaramouche chided as Francis rejoined him in the waiting room.

“Can we head back to the hotel, Mon Amour? I need to talk to you, but not here.” Scaramouche tilted his head as he studied Francis’ expression, but agreed after a few seconds.

“Is everything alright, babe? It just looked like his leg was damaged. Or is it the other one?”

“They’re both fine and expected to make a full recovery very quickly,” Francis assured him. He worried his lower lip for a bit, taking Scaramouche’s right hand as they walked.

“You know you have a heart of gold, baby, protecting two strangers with your life.”

“That’s what I need to talk to you about,” Francis murmured as he squeezed the hand tighter. “Only … only one of them was a stranger. The one I was escorting back … was Regan.” Scaramouche uttered a soft “oh,” but continued walking at the same pace.

“I was scared to tell you when you first approached us. I panicked and thought you might hurt him, or worse.” At the admission, Scaramouche pulled Francis to a halt and wrapped him in a tight hug.

“Oh, baby! No! I wouldn’t hurt your … your friend.” The last word came out strained, but he stroked Francis’ hair comfortingly. “If you had told me that he had hurt you in the past, I might have roughed him up a bit, but I won’t hurt anyone you care about.”

“He’s not really my friend. It’s just … he’s a good man, and I did not want him to be hurt. There were only three when I originally chased off his attackers, but the leader came back with more when we were on the way to the hospital.” Francis pulled out of the embrace so they could continue the trek back to the hotel.

“Did he at least offer you something for saving them, babe?” Francis knew he was just trying to lighten the mood, but Francis could hear the hesitance and strain of remaining nonchalant.

“He did. He offered to take us both out to dinner.”

“You don’t have to go with me if you don’t want to, babe. Really, it’s okay.” A gentle thumb traced over Francis’ knuckles.

“I don’t want to go at all,” Francis admitted. “I did want to make sure he was alright, because I know violence upsets him, but I don’t want to go. I’d rather just be with you.” They were silent again as Francis led Scaramouche to a general store to purchase some sewing materials to fix his outfit.

“Babe, I want you to be honest,” Scaramouche broke the silence when they were a block from the hotel. Promising he would be, Scaramouche continued. “Did they hurt you or do anything to you?” Having figured the question was going to pertain to his relationship with Regan, Francis sighed.

“They tried to rape me.”

“ _Tried,_ babe?”

“They didn’t get very far. Just an unsolicited blowjob. It was only few thrusts into my mouth before I bit off the attachment and broke free.”

“No wonder Shadow likes you so much, babe,” Scaramouche forced a harsh chuckle. His hand tightened as he looked away.

“I’m alright though. I promise.” Scaramouche pulled to a stop again, bringing up his left hand to his mouth. “Really! They didn’t hurt me! I’m fine.” Shaking his head, Scaramouche closed his eyes and Francis could tell he was doing everything he could not to vomit.

“I just wanted you to have an honest, restful vacation, babe! Is that too much to ask for?”

“I’m a magnet for trouble,” Francis tried to laugh it off. “I just couldn’t pass up a fight. It’s the bounty hunter in me.” Scaramouche forced a sad smile at the attempt of a joke.

“Otherwise, I’m having a great time, Mon Amour. We have a few more days. Let’s go make the most of them! Won’t you take me out to lay on the beach and look at the stars? I might just have to leave all my clothes in our room.”

“Oh Aku! I love you, babe. You’re a rascal, though.”  Francis was effortlessly lifted off the ground and pulled into a tight hug as Scaramouche carried him the rest of the way to their room.

“Does vacationing mean you have to carry me everywhere?”

“Consider it a hero’s parade, babe!”

“I guess tomorrow you can carry me to the store I found. I still want to get a little something special for you, since I never made it today.”

“Will do, baby, especially if it keeps you out of trouble!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to Salacious Shipping for allowing me to borrow Francis! You can find more information about their artwork here (https://goo.gl/1t59on) and their Patreon here (https://www.patreon.com/ssnsfw/posts).


	36. A Better Job Offer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Francis is forced to endure Seth's company while he waits for Shadow before being drawn into a duel with Seth.

**A Better Job Offer**

 

            “And who are you here to pleasure?” Startled, Francis jumped to his feet, but his arm was twisted behind him and he was forced face first into the wall. _Fuck no. I should have been paying attention!_

            “No one. I have a meeting with Shadow. Let go!” Francis writhed in Seth’s grasp.

            “Wouldn’t you much rather have a meeting with me? I’ll make it worth your while.” Seth used his height and weight advantage to keep Francis pinned in place. His free hand worked its way between his legs, squeezing Francis’ attachment through his pants. “I don’t mind getting hands on. I’m sure I can find all your sweet spots while I’m pumping you full of a real robot’s spunk.”

            “Do anything to me, and I’ll be sure Scaramouche hears _every_ detail,” Francis hissed, trying to force his attachment to stay limp as Seth massaged the area roughly.

            “I’m quite sure you won’t want to do that. Maybe you didn’t hear, but I’m being promoted to the head of Magnus’ guard soon. If anything at all should happen to me, and Scaramouche is remotely involved, you can rest assured that _she’ll_ be Magnus’ permanent cock sleeve. Maybe you’ll get some visiting rights when you need a good fuck.” Francis bit back a useless retort as Seth began grinding his hips against Francis’ backside. _Getting Magnus involved is the last thing we need. I’ll just endure until Shadow comes back._ Seth let out a deep purr as Francis became aware of Seth’s arousal. He felt betrayed as his own attachment reacted so strongly to the contact, but knew it was because no one except himself had handled it since before Magnus had tortured Scaramouche.

            “Please, just stop. I don’t want any trouble,” Francis façade broke as he whimpered.

            “I’m not offering trouble,” Seth sneered. He did not have a chance to finish the thought as they were interrupted by an impatient clearing of a throat.

            “Stop harassing my guests,” Shadow spat. Francis found himself pulled away from the wall and shoved a few steps in the direction of Shadow.

            “I wasn’t _harassing_ him. Clearly he was enjoying it.” Seth nodded with a nasty smirk. Francis cast his eyes to the floor, trying to hide his erection from Shadow’s piercing eyes by turning away from them. “He was goading me into it anyway. You should have heard him taunting me.” With his head still bowed, Francis waited for Shadow’s direction as to where they would meet. Nothing was said.

            “What? Don’t you believe me?” Seth finally snapped.

            “Of course I believe you,” Shadow stated. “I’m trying to piece it together why you did not deal with the matter appropriately. Surely you asked to initiate a duel to prove your dominance? It would have taken you no time at all with your superior skill, strength, and talent, correct?”

            “I could have,” Seth asserted quickly, “but then you wouldn’t have had much of a meeting with a pile of shredded scrap metal.”

            “Well I’m here now. Why don’t you rectify the matter? I’ll make sure to prevent you from landing the killing blow. There’s no need to hold back.”

            “I should probably get back to work,” Seth shrugged. “Perhaps another time.”

            “I expect it should take no more than a minute, seeing as you’re practically head of the guard and he’s nothing more than a self-taught bounty hunter.”

            “You’re right. I can spare a minute setting him straight.” Seth drew a club from its holder on his back. Flipping a switch on the handle, it morphed into a holy water sprinkler mace, with spikes protruding from the sides and a sharp spike jutting from the end. Francis cast a glance over his shoulder at Shadow. They turned their head slightly to the right to stare him straight in the eye.

            “Next time you won’t goad someone into something you’re not ready to handle,” Shadow spoke harshly. Yet, Francis saw the quick wink as they backed up a step to give Seth and Francis room. Drawing his own swords, Francis stood a little taller, swallowing down the fear. _At least I’ll only suffer a few repairable injuries by the end of this._

            Seth took the first swing. Francis dodged, blocking the rebound with both swords. An overhead swing forced Francis to one knee as he tried to stop it. A swift kick to his chest sent him falling backwards. Before he could roll away, the top spike of Seth’s weapon pierced the left side of his abdomen. With a cry of pain, Francis managed to kick Seth back and roll to his feet. Several more swings came in rapid succession only narrowly missing his frame. The last swing ripped the sword from his left hand as the pain in his side began to grow.

            Francis retreated back a few steps as Seth smirked at his assured victory. Casting a timid glance over his shoulder, he waited to see if Shadow would end the fight. _He’s too strong for me._

            “Have you had enough?” they asked simply. Francis glanced at his injury. While painful, it was not critical. A sudden rage began to boil inside of him at the thought of backing down. _Shadow will be disappointed._

            “No.” _I haven’t learned my lesson yet. He’ll have to land a few more blows before I surrender._ Squaring his shoulders again, Francis took the one sword in both hands. Charging, he deflected the blow and threw his body at Seth. Seth staggered back a step, one handing coming off his mace to push Francis away. The sword missed the target and Seth arced the mace down. The handle came down on the back of Francis’ wrists, sparing him injury, but battering away his remaining weapon. Undeterred, Francis wrestled closer, taking ahold of the handle.

            Hooking one foot behind Seth’s knee, Francis managed to topple the future head guard. Francis straddled his chest as he used his body weight to keep him down. Ripping the mace out of his hand and flinging it down the hall, Francis used his left hand to push away Seth’s hands. The frantic fingers tore at his hair and face, trying to get a grip and gouge out his eyes. Amidst the chaos, Francis managed to snag his dagger from his belt. Raising it over his head, he let out a yell as he slammed it towards Seth’s forehead. In the split second, Francis watched as Seth’s eyes widened into horrified circles and his teeth were revealed in one last terrified scream.

            He managed to stop the dagger before the tip pierced through Seth’s forehead. It rested precariously against the metal as Seth stilled in defeat. Rage still painted across his features, Francis managed to turn back to Shadow, awaiting their next command.

            They said nothing, their expression blank. Francis was given a single nod. With a violent shake of his head to free Seth’s tangled hand, he rolled off of him, using the wall to lean against as he got to his feet. The pain in his abdomen had intensified with all of the sudden movement and he realized oil had begun leaking down his chin and from the wound itself.

            “Get back to work!” Shadow barked suddenly. Francis glanced up, realizing a small crowd had gathered to watch his defeat. They dispersed quickly.

            “And you,” Shadow had stepped forward dangerously. “Get out of my sight.” Seth began to beg for a second chance, but thought better of it as Shadow’s eyes narrowed. He scampered away, retrieving his mace as he vanished around a corner.

            “You did well, as I expected.” Genuinely confused, Francis tilted his head. “Let’s tend to your wounds so I don’t have to deal with an angry Scaramouche once he finishes his training session.” Offering their left hand, Francis reached out with his right. They seized his wrist between the top of the ruffled shirt sleeve and below his glove. After a few seconds, he felt the pain begin to fade and he could stand upright without the aid of the wall. The swords slid across the floor and levitated into Shadow’s free hand. Francis put them away. Tugging him along, Shadow led the way through the hallways.

            “What … how did you—”

            “Pain siphoning. It’s a technique I learned to absorb one’s pain into my own body. No need to suffer from a fight I started.”

            “You don’t need –”

            “I did not ask your opinion on the matter. We are nearing my private doctor. He will tend to your wounds and make the cosmetic repairs. I will remove the lingering pain when he is done.” Shadow came to a stop outside a steel door and buzzed. A voice equally stoic to Shadow’s responded.

            “Bring in your latest victim.” Shadow pushed open the door, cringing as they stepped into the room. Francis watched as a thin trail wafted up from the hole in Shadow’s jaw and a thicker cloud fell from their lips with each breath.

            “You’ll have to excuse me, Lopez. Shadow has brought in _another_ injured individual. I will send you the statistics you require in the next three hours.” Francis stared at the armored man. A glass dome covered his head, while tubes filled with a translucent blue fluid fed into different areas of the suit. Like Shadow, he seemed to radiate an air of disdain for everything around him, and Francis could not read his expression under the red googles. _I wouldn’t be surprised if they’re related._

            “Good morning, LO,” Shadow shouted. The armored man sighed before switching the phone to speaker mode.

            “Hi, Shadow! When do I get to see you again?” Francis was surprised at the cheerfulness on the other end of the line.

            “In due time. How is the project going with CP?” Shadow inquired. Francis watched as the armored man turned his full attention on Shadow, his neutral expression darkening just a hair.

            “Oh, we’re getting there. Lots of numbers, which I know you two love. Anyway, call me sometime! Let me know how you’re doing.”

            “I might have a vice chair for your fan club. Francis would fit in nicely.”

            “Ooh! I could always use a new member! I’ll design us jackets!” Lopez exclaimed. “I’ll need –” Shadow surprised Francis by spouting out his measurements needed for the jacket. _I wonder what other sizes they know_ , Francis bit down a smirk, before forcing the thought from his mind. The three exchanged pleasantries while Francis stood silently. The armored man rose to his feet at the conclusion of the call, gesturing towards the operating table in the corner of the room.

            “Are you sure?” The question was directed to Shadow, each word monotone but managing to send a clear message of distaste.

            “Yes.” Francis did not ask what they were referring to, merely situating himself on the table. “This is Dr. Victor Fries, world renowned cryogenist.”

            “Used to be,” Victor corrected hastily. “And you are?”

            “Francis. A, uh … bounty hunter.” Victor nodded, as if he had already guessed his name and occupation. _Or Shadow might have told him? It doesn’t matter._

            “I’m going to let go of you, but the pain will return,” Shadow warned. Francis gave his permission, feeling the surge of pain creep into his core with every finger removed from his wrist. Without having to be told, he unbuttoned his shirt and vest. The garments were handed to Shadow when they offered their hand. Francis laid on his back, knowing it would give Victor a better angle to work and prevent him from moving about. The severed wires were soldered back together before the plate was patched. Victor finished up within a half hour, efficiently hiding the wound. _I would hardly know it was there if the pain would only fade a bit more._

            “Thanks, CP.” Victor grunted in response to Shadow, turning away to clean and put away his tools.

            “I can remove the lingering effects,” Shadow stated. Having learned not to disagree with them, Francis nodded. Handing the garments back, which Francis was surprised to see patched and oil stain free, Shadow placed both hands near the injury. They closed their eyes for a moment, but Francis did not feel the pain siphoning effects like before.

            “It will hurt for only a moment.” Without enough time to respond, Francis tensed, locking his jaw to keep in the shout. The pain manifested into an overwhelming level before vanishing suddenly. There was nothing left of Seth’s successful attack.

            “Thank you,” Francis murmured, sitting up to better inspect the area. Shadow gave a terse nod before backing up a few steps. _They’re hurt. Oh no! They absorbed too much of the pain!_

            “Are you --?”

            “Fine, yes. When you’re dressed, we’ll head to my office.” Francis hurriedly pulled on his shirt and vest, pushing himself off the table. He hurried after Shadow as they bid Victor a quick farewell and marched back to the hallway.

            A few people that passed them turned to stare at Francis, shaking their head with a smirk. Shadow slowed for no one, turning down one hallway and shoving open the door to their office. Francis took a seat in the cheap folding chair across from Shadow. _This place is hardly bigger than my guest room._ Francis tried to keep his focus on Shadow, waiting for them to speak.

            “It’s not much to look at,” Shadow shrugged. “I have a proposition for you. I want you to be my personal bounty hunter.” Francis blinked, opening his mouth to speak, but closing it sharply when he realized words were failing him.

            “Yes, it will be salaried in addition to successful bounty bonuses, have some paid days off, and will not prevent you from taking advantage of other opportunities that arise when you are not working for me.” _What more could I ask for?_ Francis leaned back, dropping his head to study his hands that were clasped in his lap.

            “Thank you for your offer and … and your faith in me, but trust me: you don’t want me.” _I’ve probably already disappointed you, regardless of what you say. I’m not Scaramouche. Anything I bring in would look pathetic._

            “Oh?” Francis winced at the sound. “And what, pray tell, do I want then?” _Well fuck. They should just dispose of me and get it over with. I’ll never get this right._ Francis kept his eyes downcast, considering the matter for a while before he tried again.

            “I don’t know exactly what you want,” Francis finally admitted, “But I do know that you don’t want someone like me even remotely tied to your name. That battle… that was a fluke. Seth just wasn’t trying. I’m not good enough to be on your payroll. I might take the job had someone else offered, but  I can’t tarnish your reputation.” Francis risked a glance up, waiting to be reprimanded. The lack of anger surprised him.

            “I understand. The offer will be available if you should change your mind. Scaramouche should be finished with the training session in the next hour. You should not have any trouble if you wait in here, although you’re also welcome to rein terror on anyone here if you’d prefer.”

            “I’ll just wait here,” Francis muttered as Shadow stood. They nodded and faded out of existence.  A while later, there was a knock at the door. Francis silently got to his feet, gripping his dagger tightly. The door swung open, and Scaramouche poked his head in side.

            “I heard you’re challenging the toughest soldiers here to move up through the ranks, baby!”  He strode in with a huge smirk, using his foot to push the door closed before bounding across the space to wrap Francis in a hug. “You’re not hurt, are you?”

            “No.” _Not currently._ Francis loosely held Scaramouche.

            “What’s the matter, babe? You look upset. You should be proud!”

            “I think I made a horrible mistake, Mon Amour.”

            “What? No! Challenging and beating Seth is nothing to be ashamed of, babe! There’s only a handful of people Seth could have respectfully lost to, especially if he was going to be the head of the guard. That’s me, Shadow, Ophion, Magnus, Aku … and maybe the Samurai.”

            “No, it doesn’t have anything to do with him. Shadow asked me to be their personal bounty hunter.”

            “And what’s wrong with that, babe?”

            “I declined,” Francis admitted, feeling his legs start to grow weak. Scaramouche must have felt the change in stance, as he tightened his hold and lifted him off the ground.

            “I see, baby. Maybe you can think on it a bit? They usually take a long time before making the offer, so I’m sure if you change your mind later –”

            “Scaramouche, I can’t work for Shadow! I’m not … I don’t think I’m qualified. I don’t want to disappoint them.” _Not anymore than I already have._

            “Well, you know, babe, I could always use a personal guard,” Scaramouche nuzzled their noses together. “Shadow might be willing to adjust the terms of service for that, since they already want to hire you. After hearing what you did today, I think I’ve been vastly underestimating your power.”

            “Maybe. That sounds more reasonable. Let’s go home, Mon Amour. I’ll … I’ll think on it.”

            “There’s a new position open for head of the guard, too,” Scaramouche teased, setting Francis back on the ground and taking his hand to guide him back to the transporter. _Perhaps I could be more than just a self-taught bounty hunter._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to Salacious Shipping for allowing me to borrow Francis! You can find more information about their artwork here (https://goo.gl/1t59on) and their Patreon here (https://www.patreon.com/ssnsfw/posts).


	37. Almost Normal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scaramouche is tried of waiting to feel normal again and takes matters into his own hands by taking Francis inside of him for the first time since he dealt with Magnus.

**Almost Normal**

 

            _He has a right to privacy and you know he would respect mine_ , Francis reminded himself harshly, turning away from the closed door. The chores of cleaning up from their latest bounty hunting spree was resumed. His worrying only intensified when he finished three hours later and had not heard a peep from Scaramouche.

            _I’m only checking to make sure he’s alright. He’s been barricading himself in his room a lot lately and I fear he could relapse._ Francis allowed himself to be convinced as made his way rather noisily up the stairs. The quick raps at the door went unheeded for a few seconds too long. Having been about to knock again, Francis let out a sigh of relief as he heard an answer.

            “Hold on a second, babe. Let me … clean up.”

            “I just wanted to …” Francis trailed off, not wanting to sound overbearing. “To see if you wanted an early dinner.”

            “Actually, babe,” Scaramouche smirked as he whisked the door open. “I was wondering if you wanted to do something before we eat.” His devious grin and unbuttoned coat did not distract Francis from the hesitance flickering in his eyes.

            “What exactly did you have in mind, Mon Amour?” _Because it seems like you are more tense than when you let me just give you a blow job._ The signature grin faltered a bit.

            “I want to go back to how things used to be,” he admitted. “I’ve been fingering myself again, babe. And, well, the results aren’t exactly what I want, but I’m getting there.” Francis broke eye contact, glancing into the room. The pillow sheets had become slightly oil stained where Scaramouche had no doubt used them to smother any painful cries from prying ears. The floor was littered with clothes, some oil stained, but some, Francis noted, were merely soaked through with artificial fluids.

            “You really inspired me when we were on vacation, babe. Fearlessly jumping in to fight a crowd with no idea what they were capable of. I’m still in awe that you challenged Seth and defeated him like he was nothing, babe! I’m sick and tired of being scared of my own body! I’m a goddamn assassin, babe!”

            “So you want me to finger you?” Francis posed quietly.

            “No!” Scaramouche asserted before changing his tune. “I mean, yes, I’ll want you to. But I want you to fuck me, babe. Right here, right now!” He pulled Francis into the room and onto the bed before Francis could protest.

            “We should take it easy, Mon Amour,” Francis murmured in between the frantic kisses.

            “But you’ll do it, babe? Please?”

            “Oui,” Francis sighed. He began to return the sentiment, meeting lips with Scaramouche. The frame below him shook horribly.

            “I think it would be best if you were on top, Mon Amour. That way you can go at your own pace.”

            “You’re probably right, baby. I’m uh … going to keep my coat and scarf on. I know it’s not really our style, but I feel more comfortable this way.”

            “We should stay mostly dressed. We’ll have to eat dinner and then maybe keep breaking in the couch, right?” Francis let a warm smile cross his face.

            “Have I told you you’re the best, babe?” Francis rolled out of the embrace, undoing his pants enough to release his member. A timid hand pushed Francis’ hands away and teased the underside with the fingertips. Francis let out a quiet purr as Scaramouche found more courage and began stroking more vigorously. After a few minutes, the fingers stilled. The bright eyes had disappeared from his visor as he contemplated  his next action.

            “I wouldn’t mind starting with my tongue dancing inside of you,” Francis offered quietly.

            “No, babe. I want … I need to do this!” He straddled Francis’ hips, resting his weight on Francis’ thighs. Slowly, he eased forward, sliding the port opening against the attachment. A quiet whimper sounded in his throat. Francis flicked his eyes to the port, keeping the reassuring smile plastered on his face even as the port clenched in fear. The trembling port was slid to the tip. Against every desire in his body, Scaramouche managed to circle his hips, his fingers nearly digging into Francis’ sides.

            “I love you, Mon Amour,” Francis purred, reaching up to stroke his back. Passing back a tight lipped smile, Scaramouche could not return the sentiment as he finally lowered himself.

            _He’s way too tight! Any movement will surely hurt him!_ Francis frantic prayers for his companion to relax went answered as the port loosened around his attachment. Regardless, a thin stream of oil made its way down the corner of Scaramouche’s mouth. Alerting Scaramouche he was going to move, Francis pulled a cloth from his pocket and dabbed at the pursed lips. Francis was pleased to see no new oil coming to replace what he wiped away.

            With a slight chirp, Scaramouche rolled his hips forward. Francis had to bite down his own cry of pain as the fingers gripped his sides tighter. Hips stayed flat on the bed, even as Scaramouche rutted against him faster. It took a few more minutes for the fingers to loosen their death grip.

            “I – I missed this, babe!” His voice trembled viciously, but he never faltered in his movements. Francis was surprised as he sank to the hilt. Small, shaking noises of pleasure started to fill the room. Unable to relax enough, Francis forced out a quiet purr, still focused on making sure Scaramouche was faring well.

            The port tightened suddenly. Francis was about to inquire when he realized Scaramouche had stopped on his own accord to ride out his orgasm. The unbuttoned pants absorbed the artificial fluids as it dripped down his embedded member. Flinging himself off, Scaramouche rolled onto his side, facing away from Francis.

            “I’m alright, babe!” His frantic insistence came before the question was even asked. Redressing, Francis nestled behind him, gingerly wrapping an arm around his waist. “In a minute, babe, I’ll –”

            “Later. We have all night. Why don’t you take a few hours to collect yourself? That was a huge leap on your journey to recovery, and I don’t want you to take on too much.” Scaramouche nodded silently.

            “I’m so proud of you, Mon Amour. I know it has been a long time coming, but you are so brave and strong. Don’t ever forget that.” Francis’ hand was grasped gently and pulled to Scaramouche’s lips. After blessing each finger with a gentle kiss, Scaramouche rolled into the embrace, hugging Francis tight to his chest. Nothing more was said as they drifted off for a short recharge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to Salacious Shipping for allowing me to borrow Francis! You can find more information about their artwork here (https://goo.gl/1t59on) and their Patreon here (https://www.patreon.com/ssnsfw/posts).


	38. Work Distraction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scaramouche interrupts Francis' chores to request his presence at the tournament to determine the best warrior and make a few plans for the future.

**Work Distraction**

 

            Panic shot through his body. The hands that had come around throat now rested below the junction between his neck and chest, a bunch of wild flowers gathered in one of the hands. They pulled him back into a much larger figure.

“Don’t sneak up on me like that!” Francis gave a shout as he tried to spin out of the hold. Scaramouche let out a chuckle as he leaned forwards to peck him on his left temple.

            “You don’t want my skills to get rusty, do you, babe? I have to keep in practice especially since I’m finally assassin material again! Plus, Shadow wants me to take part in the warrior’s championship.”

            “There are infinite possibilities that don’t involve trying to send my system into a panicked shut down,” Francis pouted. “For example, you could have silently finished putting away our dishes as I washed these.”

            “That just doesn’t sound like a good use of my skills, though, babe!” Scaramouche pulled Francis away from the sink and down to a seated position on the floor.

            “I’m _working_ , Mon Tueur.”

            “Aw, babe, are we back to that? I’ve got a hunch it doesn’t mean guest at all. Don’t you worry! I’ll help you finish up … _after_ I’m finished with you.” Francis sighed, letting Scaramouche pull his forehead against his chest. The stems on the wildflowers were intertwined with the intricate braid Scaramouche had woven that morning. He dared not move lest he mess up Scaramouche’s work.

            “You’re so wonderful, babe,” Scaramouche murmured as he added the last two flowers he had picked. Tilting Francis chin up, he leaned down to kiss him on the lips briefly before continuing. “So handsome, and kind, and brave, and patient. I love you so much, babe.”

            “You’re just trying to butter me up, aren’t you, Mon Cher?”

            “Yes, and it’s working, babe.” Scaramouche kissed him longer and hugged him tight. When he finally broke it off, Scaramouche ran his fingers along the cheek panel before smoothing down the chest of his own coat.

            “I just love being with you, baby. I feel like you’ve really brought out the best in me, even though it’s been hard sometimes. I can only hope I’ve done you right, babe!”

            “You’ve made me the happiest I’ve ever been in my life,” Francis smiled, wrapping his arms around Scaramouche’s neck. “I never realized how wonderful life could be until I met you.”

            “Even if I keep encouraging you to keep your shirt open a few buttons, babe.” The tease came with a quick peck on Francis’ nose.

            “You were right, Mon Amour. I look better this way. Plus, I would have never felt comfortable enough to do this on my own.” Scaramouche touched the spot between the top two buttons on his coat again before leaning into Francis’ embrace.

            “I suppose I should help you finish up, huh, babe?”

            “You did promise.” Francis flashed a smile before pecking Scaramouche’s chin.

            “Can I ask a favor first, baby?” After receiving a nod, he continued. “Will you come and cheer me on at the games? I know I won’t lose with you there, babe!”

            “Of course. There’s no place I’d rather be!”

            “We should plan a celebration if I win. Anywhere you want to go and spend a day?”

            “It’s a little far, but what about Paris? I’ve never actually been to France.” Scaramouche drew back, tilting his head as a quizzical expression crossed his face.

            “But you’re –”

            “My creator was French, and built me this way. He moved to another country before he built me because his business did better there. All my clients were relatively local.”

            “We can’t do it all in a day, and I’d hate for you to be disappointed. What if we saved that for another time, babe? Like our honeymoon!” _He’s still grinning like a fool, but I don’t think he’s kidding. I’m glad he’s not._ Francis surprised himself with the last thought.

            “I’d like that, Mon Amour.”

            “I can’t wait, babe! It’ll be so much fun!” Francis felt like Scaramouche had more to say, but he fell silent, nuzzling against the top of Francis’ head.

            “Let’s get to work, babe. After we finish you can help me practice some more for the tournament!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to Salacious Shipping for allowing me to borrow Francis! You can find more information about their artwork here (https://goo.gl/1t59on) and their Patreon here (https://www.patreon.com/ssnsfw/posts).


	39. Recall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scaramouche competes in the tournament and a head injury finally reminds him of the important information he was supposed to tell Aku.

**Recall**

 

            “Shadow has this whole box for friends,” BK explained as she led Francis into room filled with plush seats a few meters above the stadium floor. “But we never use half of them, because _somebody_ doesn’t have a whole lot of friends. I think this will be the first year it’s getting some decent use, although we could have a whole bunch of others in here.” Francis wandered to the front of the room, touching the glass as he stared out to the open arena.

            “Don’t worry! It’ll hold. Unfortunately, Scaramouche can’t see in, but he’ll know exactly where you are.” BK pointed at a seat third from the end of the first row.

            “Thank you again for letting me join you,” Francis smiled as he settled into the indicated seat. _When Scaramouche asked me to come, I did not think I would get such a good view_.

            “We’re happy to have you! If we’re lucky, Shadow might join us, although I think they’re on call this weekend to deal with some rebel problems. So, can I get you anything? It’s a bit of a wait for the actual games to start.”

            “No, thank you. I’m all set.” BK plopped down on Francis’ right, scrolling through her phone. After a few minutes, Francis did the same, periodically glancing out to the empty stadium.

            “I’m not doing anything important,” BK added, glancing over. “We can chat. I’m actually trying to find someone who’s probably in the relative proximity to Scaramouche so you two can chat for a bit, because I know Shadow had his phone confiscated.”

            “I was wondering why he hadn’t messaged,” Francis chuckled. BK groaned, having been informed that the nearest individual was unwilling to go against Shadow’s wishes.

            “Sorry. I tried.” Francis nodded his appreciation. They both jumped as the door opened. Francis’ hand immediately went to his dagger as the purple armored robot approached him. Behind the Y shaped visor, a pair of red eyes glowed angrily.

            “Well, if it isn’t Vile,” BK smirked. “The god forsaken child of the bastard son of 100 maniacs.” Francis stared a little harder. Not only had he thought the stranger was an actual robot with the design, but he could have sworn he recognized them.

            “You saved me before, at least fifteen years ago,” he finally blurted out. “Thank you.” _Not one of my finer moments from my first career._  

            “You looked like you were in a tight space and could use a hand.” Shadow shrugged, taking the end seat next to BK.

            “You reek of Hagis,” BK wrinkled their nose and leaned closer to Francis.

            “Job perks. I stopped in to reestablish respect and stayed for a meal as they licked their wounds.”

            “Well excuse me for having a _normal_ sense of smell.” Shadow did not have time to retort before there was a knock at the door. Tilting back their head, Francis could hear them sniffing the air.

            “It’s Ophion,” Shadow murmured.

            “Come on in!” BK called over her shoulder. The door opened to reveal a thin man of a dark complexion clad in a pale green suit. He smiled warmly as he pushed the door closed behind them.

            “How come you’re not on the center stage looking official?” BK inquired as Ophion made his way into the seat next to Francis.

            “Ah, you’ll have to forgive me. I’m,” he let out a few fake coughs. “A bit under the weather. I couldn’t make it to the games today. Look at you though, stealing Scaramouche’s boyfriend and cheating on Shadow in the process. Where is the little Tyrant, anyway?”

            “Oh, you know, probably murdering people, terrorizing a village, or devouring ungodly amounts of meat.” Ophion let out a deep chuckle, settling back in his chair.

            “Of course. I just _can’t_ picture them taking a few hours off to actually sit in a chair and watch the games, even if they’re attire is a bit ill-suited for reclining and better for competing themselves. Perhaps they’re dressed in Scaramouche’s colors to cheer him on?” Ophion and BK kept up the small talk for a while. Shadow was relatively silent, engrossed in their devices. Having swallowed down his initial anxiety of meeting Ophion, fearing he would be similar in disposition to Magnus, Francis allowed himself to be swept into the conversation. They ignored the opening remarks, only turning their attention back to the arena as the first match began.

            “You know, it’s kind of funny that your champion got bumped up to first place when Scaramouche was announced as the lowest ranked competitor since he missed the tryouts,” BK gave Ophion a side eye.

            “I thought the same myself. I don’t control the rankings nor the matches. Besides, if you want to call yourself champion, you have to be able to go through the worst case scenario.” BK agreed, teasing Ophion about not sitting in his own box and cheering for his champion, as she pulled out small purple flags for herself, Shadow, and Francis. Scaramouche and Ophion’s champion made their way to the arena floor. Flashing a grin in Francis’ direction, Scaramouche strutted to his position, drawing out his tuning fork dagger. The match began.

            No one in Shadow’s booth said a word. Francis gripped his flag tightly, leaning forward in his seat to watch as arrows began flying. Ophion’s champion easily side stepped the levitating sword with each passing strike. He kept Scaramouche at bay with the constant barrage of arrows aimed at Scaramouche’s throat and head. Unable to get close enough for hand to hand combat, Scaramouche stopped trying to duck out of the way of the arrows and instead tip them with his dagger. Collecting several of the explosive arrows, he hurled them back at the archer. Although they did no damage, the distraction allowed Scaramouche to close the gap by a few meters.

            Going in for the kill, Scaramouche rushed forward. With the closer proximity, he was unable to dodge as far. Francis let out a quiet “no” as a stray arrow impaled Scaramouche’s right shoulder. He winced as Scaramouche cried out in pain. His charge forward faltered, and he retreated a few steps.

            “It’s a good thing he’s not human. All of those arrows are drenched in poison,” Ophion murmured. Francis could not peel his eyes away. Scaramouche had gone back to deflecting the arrows, all of his earlier gains having been lost.

            “He’s scared.” For a moment, Francis jerked his head to the right, having forgotten Shadow was even with them. _They’re right. This isn’t his style._ _Be brave, Scaramouche!_ Scaramouche continued to lose ground until he was nearly backed against the arena walls. Ophion’s champion merely moved closer, cutting off his chances to shuffle sideways away from the arrows.

            Suddenly, Scaramouche stood up a little straighter, squaring his shoulders as he touched his chest between the top two buttons. It was as if a switch had been flipped. He ran forward, several arrows sinking into his frame as he focused on protecting his throat. Ophion’s champion staggered back a step as Scaramouche thrust his blade forward. Knowing it was over, Ophion’s champion threw up his hands as his crossbow was destroyed. Francis assumed he had surrendered as Scaramouche took a few shaky steps away. He was helped out of the arena as the announcers began introducing the champions of the next fight.

            “Something’s come up,” Shadow mumbled, rising to their feet. “I’ll try to be back for the finale.” They faded away before anyone could bid them a farewell.

            “Alright, give me their flag,” Ophion sighed. He let out a chuckle as confusion crossed Francis’ face. “Hey, there’s no shame in losing to whoever becomes the winner, especially if they’ve been trained by Shadow.” BK agreed, handing over Shadow’s abandoned flag. They watched as the competition was narrowed down the remaining four. Ophion excused himself during the intermission show to check on his guests. A sharp pop filled the room when there was less than ten minutes left of the intermission show.

            “I was wondering when you were going to show up,” BK chided as Devin jumped the rows of seats and landed next to Francis.

            “Yeah, I over slept. I was taking one of my biweekly naps in a dumpster and luckily someone was doing some serious cleaning, so I woke up with about eight stuffed bags thrown on me.” BK groaned at the knowledge as Francis felt his phone vibrate with a new message. Discreetly unsheathing his dagger, he planted the blade in Devin’s right leg as the text from Shadow specified. Devin let out a pained shout before instantly returning to his previously calm expression.

            “You know, I liked Shadow’s other bounty hunter – may she rest in peace – a lot better. At least she would get us some lunch before stabbing me.”

            “Francis declined,” BK stated. This was more shocking to Devin than the commanded attack.

            “Then you don’t have to be so loyal to that Tyrant! Actually, I’m surprised you still hang out with us Mav—” Devin cut himself off. He leaned back in the chair, jerking the dagger out of his leg. The blood was wiped off on his pants before he returned the weapon. From inside of his coat, Devin took out a small vial of a deep crimson color, sprinkling a few drops on the wound. Tracing his fingers over the wound, Francis watched as the skin healed and the hole in his pants mended itself.

            “I fortunately know a bit of magic. It’s a talent that I always have possessed,” Devin sang with a smirk. The rest of his song was interrupted as Ophion returned. He shook his head, but took the seat next to Devin.

            “I’m surprised you’re still in one piece,” he greeted Devin.

            “With Shadow doing whatever Shadow does, I have a good chance of surviving. Francis tried to give me a thigh piercing.”

            “Oh, like this?” As quick as a flash, Ophion’s hand lashed out and injected a small vial of pale pink liquid into Devin’s left leg.

            “What? ‘No sleep my’ –” the rest of Devin’s sentence slurred into oblivion as crumpled forward, unconscious.

            “Well, shit, that was fast!” BK starred on in awe.

            “It’s new. I’ll email you the recipe.”

            “I wish the new thing I was working on would turn out. It’s a little explosive at the moment. I’ve blown out the guest kitchen.”

            “Oh? The east or west one?”

            “Yes,” BK sighed, a tinge of red touching her face.

            “I do prefer a quiet poison. I’m finishing up one now. It will be the perfect poison.”

            “No cure?”

            “I have to run a few more tests, but it should be incurable. The downside is that it’s incredibly painful and rather slow. I would rather not use it unless it is absolutely necessary.”

            “That sounds impressive. Any chance you’ll share that, too?”

            “I’m mulling it over. It’s not that I don’t trust you, but—”

            “Eh, it’s fine, I understand!” BK grinned. “I’d keep it under wraps. Anyway, are you going to wake him back up for the Scaramouche’s match?”

            “He looked tired. Besides, he won’t miss anything. Scaramouche will wipe the floor with this one.” True to Ophion’s word, Scaramouche had no trouble in his second match. It was over almost as soon as it began. Both competitors were armed with swords. Scaramouche’s opponent was disarmed immediately. Scaramouche toyed around with him, leaping about the stadium to corner him, before running him through with the tuning dagger.

            Francis watched the next semifinal match intently as Ophion and BK picked apart both competitors strategy. Both pointed out how Magnus’ champion seemed to be incredibly lucky.

            “Or cheating,” BK finally spat. Ophion hummed, but did not honor her with his opinion. BK had taken to check her phone. Once the fight was over, she reported that she still had not heard from Shadow.

            “There’s another intermission. Perhaps that will give them enough time. Do you know what the problem was?”

            “Probably more rebel trouble,” BK shrugged. “The rebels have been active lately.”

            “Yes, they have been causing more mayhem than usual. Supposedly the Samurai has been sighted more frequently as of late. He had been quiet the last twenty years or so, and that gave us a chance to fortify our forces.”

            “What’s your opinion on him anyway? Do you think he’d have a chance of taking you all down?”

            “No, not alone. He’s still a human. Quite an extraordinary one, I might add, but he, like all of us, has weaknesses. There is only so much pain he can take, blood he can lose, and time before a poison in his veins would kill him. Could he defeat the great and powerful Aku? Perhaps, but I should hope he never gets that opportunity, especially with Shadow as the last line of defense. If they do not stop him, I have no doubt they will render him virtually defeated by the time he reaches Aku’s chamber. Why do you ask?”

            “Just curious. Shadow only grumbles because they are not allowed to approach him, so I get nothing from them.”

            “Fair enough,” Ophion nodded. He opened his suit jacket and searched the interior pockets until he found a small vial of a blue liquid. Prying out the small cork with his fingers, he eased Devin’s chin up. The vial was  held under his nose for a few seconds before he spluttered awake.

            “‘— Little Kovu’ … Woah! Geeze, that’s good shit right there! Shadow would pay actual money for that! I haven’t been that far under in a long time.” Ophion chuckled, thanking him for such a compliment. Devin scrubbed at his eyes.

            “Just so you’re aware, common side effects are fatigue and future insomnia.”

            “That’s alright. I’ve already got both, so it can’t be any worse than usual. I can’t believe my eyes were even closed.” Giving his head a violent shake, Devin finally settled back into his seat. BK caught him up on the two matches he missed.

            “No Shadow? Good! I’m going to come sit by you before I bleed to death.” Ophion reclaimed his seat as the final match was announced.

            “Ah! Got an update! Turns out Shadow managed to drag Aku out. That’s a healthy dose of confidence they have in Scaramouche,” BK grinned as she elbowed Francis.

            “I must admit, he has improved significantly since his first year as an assassin. I am still surprised that Shadow picked him as their next assassin. You would not think they were compatible in that sense, and Bellatrix seemed like a better match before we found out she was a traitor.”

            “Shadow has a good sense of character,” BK grinned.

            “I mean, it makes perfect sense to me,” Devin bragged. BK pressed him on to explain. “I mean, he’s the walking embodiment of all of Shadow’s weaknesses and fears. If Shadow wears high heels, it’s basically instant death. Same with a scarf. Plus, he has a sense of fashion and managed to overcome Shadow’s greatest fear.”

            “Which is?” Ophion needled.

            “Being tall,” Devin shrugged as if stating the obvious. BK buried her face in her hands as she began to cackle. She laughed harder as she snorted. Francis bit his tongue to stifle his own laugh, grinning wider as he heard Ophion try to mask his amusement with more realistic sounding coughs.

            “Suddenly, Shadow’s selection makes exponentially more sense,” Ophion finally admitted, wiping a tear from his eye. “Now, let’s hope he can live up to the hype this time around.”

            “He’s already outranked himself. Last time, he went home in fourth place,” BK explained to Francis, “but Shadow was just trying to instill some humility into him back then. I think he’s got a great chance this time, if he can keep focused and calm.” Ophion nodded his agreement, growing serious as each champion was announced.

            _You can do this, Mon Amour!_ Shadow’s box had gone silent as Scaramouche waved to the crowd and drew his dagger. The cheering lulled as Zyphen, Magnus’ champion, stepped forward to be introduced. The crowd screamed again, chanting one of the champion’s names until it became a deafening roar.

            Scaramouche touched his fingers of his free right hand to his chest before dropping into a battle ready position. Like Magnus, Zyphen had his own whip in addition to an assortment of closer combat weapons on his belt. They charged towards each other.

            Easily sliding out of the way, Scaramouche avoided the first lash. He closed the gap, striking out with his dagger. Zyphen ducked out of the way. He was not quick enough to avoid the levitating sword. A flash of pain and anger crossed his face as the sword grazed his leg. Scaramouche danced away with a smirk.

            The next time Zyphen charged forward, the audience could tell the wound was going to hamper him. He could still run, but there was a hitch in his step. Scaramouche focused his attacks on the area, unable to get his sword close enough, but managing to deliver a swift kick. Even Francis winced as the heel of his boot jabbed into the open wound.

            “He’s got this!” Devin cheered. Like Francis, he was leaned forward as far as he could stretch. Ophion and BK had remained back in their seats, studying the scene.

            “You of all people should know not to count your chickens before they hatch,” BK added quietly. As Scaramouche went in for the third strike, Zyphen lashed out again with his whip. He also reached towards Scaramouche.

            Upon contact with Scaramouche’s throat, oil instantly sprayed out of Scaramouche’s mouth. Francis jumped to his feet, face pressed to the two way glass. As far as he could tell, Zyphen’s hand was empty, and he could not figure out what had caused the injury.

            “They’re not going to penalize Zyphen, are they?” BK sighed. “You know that’s illegal.”

            “I had hoped it would be a fair match,” Ophion mumbled. Francis watched as Scaramouche pushed away, staggering back as he spat out the oil still in his throat.

            “What happened?” Francis forced himself back into his seat, fingers digging into the arms of the chair.

            “I think Zyphen has a pain wavelength manipulator embedded in his gauntlet. Somehow he has it set to Scaramouche’s system, so when he gets it close to his head or a critical center, Scaramouche’s pain censors go haywire. Anything that is calibrated to a specific robot’s wavelength is illegal and all weapons that are used are supposed to be registered before the tournament.” Francis was surprised to hear Ophion swear under his breath, but was tempted to do so himself. Zyphen advanced, catching Scaramouche with a lash, and pulling his feet out from under him. Scaramouche rolled away. Each time he tried to get back to his feet, Zyphen managed to jerk him back to the ground. He closed in on the fallen assassin.

            A jagged blade was pulled from his belt as he clambered on top of Scaramouche and slammed the blade into him. Scaramouche managed to deflect some of them. Soon, the knife came up covered in dark oil.

            The whole time, Scaramouche sang for his sword. One swipe got lucky, slicing into Zyphen’s left shoulder. Scaramouche kicked him off, getting to his feet, yet tumbling back to the ground even without the whip tugging at his legs.

            _His pain tolerance is at the max! He has to finish this now, or he won’t make it!_ Francis knew Scaramouche could not see him, but when the assassin looked in his direction, Francis felt like they locked eyes. Scaramouche nodded towards him as he shoved himself up.

            The jagged blade pierced him again. Scaramouche forced forwards. His scream rang out clearly as Zyphen grabbed his face. Zyphen’s hand latched around his visor, and Francis watched helplessly as the blue eyes began to fade. Scaramouche fell to his knees, his mouth still moving as oil poured over his lips. The dagger dropped from his hands.

            Zyphen raised his blade up to strike the killing blow. From behind him, nearly forgotten, Scaramouche’s sword ran him through, the blade coming out blood as it stopped millimeters from Scaramouche’s own chest. Zyphen’s own legs gave out, and he crumpled to the ground.

            For once, Francis did not care who was grabbing him. BK was the first the throw herself on him, wrapping him in a tight hug. A second pair of arms came from behind him before he felt his hair mused a bit in affection. Cheers were erupting throughout the stadium as the overseer strode back out to the center. With a great struggle, he pulled Scaramouche to his feet. His coat sported long cuts as it barely held to his frame. From the small gap between arms, Francis noticed something that made his face fall. The overseer could not keep Scaramouche upright, and he dropped painfully to his knees.

            “He’s going to be alright,” BK whispered when she felt the frown. “Fries is his appointed doctor and he’ll make sure Scaramouche is fine. I think the hit to the head just jarred his balance circuitry a little bit. It’ll probably reset tonight after he rests. In the meantime, you’ll just have to act like a robot crutch!” Several other medics dressed in blood red ran out to Magnus’ fallen champion. Francis recognized one of Shadow’s guards make his way over to Scaramouche, not reaching the new champion before Shadow materialized next to him.

            Scaramouche had gone down to all fours, trying to keep himself from falling over completely as he vomited harshly. After a violent wave stopped tumbling over his lips, Shadow went down on one knee before him, tipping his head up as they spoke. A smile crossed his face as he pulled Shadow into a hug. Shadow and their guard helped him back to his feet, slowly shuffling him out of the arena.

            BK finally released him, still grinning wildly. An equally large smile had returned to him at the assurance Scaramouche would be okay. Devin extended a hand.

            “Do you want to go see him?” Devin offered. “Shadow can only transport those that dream, but I have a little more flexibility with my magic than the Tyrant.” Francis linked hands with him as Devin twisted on his feet.           

~/~

            “You’re not usually this romantic, babe,” Scaramouche purred before Francis returned his focus to the edge of Scaramouche’s lips. “Not that I’m complaining!”

            “You’re just tired from winning the tournament. Otherwise, I know you would happily pick up the slack,” Francis smiled, cradling Scaramouche’s head in his hands as he kissed him deeply again. “Besides,” Francis continued when he broke away, “Don’t you deserve the treatment of a champion?” Scaramouche hugged him tightly as he thanked him.

            “Let me taste your sweet fluids as I make you sing to the heavens, Mon Amour.”

            “While I do love being eaten out, don’t you want the opportunity to pound into a champion, babe? We could both make sweet music!”

            “Why not both?” Francis added slyly, leaving a quick kiss on Scaramouche’s chin. “I will warm you up first.” Sliding out of the embrace, Francis leaned back on his knees, situating himself between Scaramouche’s legs. Each lavender button of the purple coat was undone and the material was slowly drawn away from his chest. Teasing his fingers down the center of Scaramouche’s body, Francis worked his way down to the belt.

            “You’re making me wet already, baby!” Scaramouche shuttered as the buckle was unclasped and the rest of his coat fell away. True to his word, the artificial fluid had begun gathering at the edge of the port, gleaming in the soft bedroom light. Fingers traced the top of his waist before gliding over the sharp curves of his hips. His thumbs slid just across the outer edge of the port, causing the fluid to drip over the edge. Dipping his thumbs just inside, Francis eased the port open, massaging the inner edge before slipping them out to let the port retract. He repeated the motion a few times, letting his thumbs reach deeper each time. Leaning forward, Francis kissed his way down the chest as his thumbs massaged two of the internal pleasure centers.

            “Oh, ah, baby!” Scaramouche jerked his hips up to grind into Francis fingers. Once he flattened his hips back on the bed, Francis extracted his thumbs, instead letting his lips graze the port. He rested his hands on Scaramouche’s thighs to keep him still. With his tongue, he parted the port again.

            Fluid had been steadily dripping over Scaramouche’s hips, but suddenly surged as Francis writhed his tongue against a third pleasure center. Scaramouche rocked up into Francis mouth, crying out in pure bliss. Francis lapped at the fluids as Scaramouche rode out his orgasm.

            “Ooh, baby. One more like that and I’ll be out like a light for the night,” Scaramouche gasped as he body went limp against the sheets.

            “I would be happy to oblige!” Francis pressed his lips to the spot where the external pleasure center used to be located. He rolled off the bed to strip off his own pants as Scaramouche rose up on his upper arms to watch. Putting on more of a show, he turned just slightly to the side as he slowly worked the remaining buttons on his shirt open. The shirt slid from his shoulders as he blew Scaramouche a kiss.

            “You make waiting _soooo_ difficult, babe!” Francis smiled warmly as he climbed on top of Scaramouche’s chest again.

            “I was just letting you cool for a few minutes,” Francis purred as he nibbled at Scaramouche’s lower lip.

            “Well, it’s not working, baby. I’m still dripping at the sight of you. I want you deep inside of me, babe. Please!” With a chuckle, Francis pecked him on the tip of his nose before sliding down to line his attachment up with the port. His slid the tip vertically across the rim as Scaramouche’s artificial fluids clung to his attachment. Easing the tip inside, he rolled his hips gently. Scaramouche gasped in delight. The port clinched rapidly as Francis slid all the way into him. Flattening on top of him and resting his head on Scaramouche’s chest, Francis used his toes to push off the bed and continue the shallow thrusts. Scaramouche’s knees had come up again so he could press up into Francis.

            “Faster, babe!” Scaramouche pleaded as his voice shook. Rising to his own knees, Francis rocked into him harder. Their hips met with each trust, matching the other’s movements perfectly. Suddenly, Scaramouche stilled, his neck snapping into the bed as his port rapidly pulsed. Tremors wracked his entire frame as he sang out in pleasure.

            The arms wrapped quickly around Francis as he went to pull out. He let out a small noise of surprise before allowing himself to be hugged against Scaramouche’s frame.

            “I want you to celebrate _with me_ , babe! You’re half the reason I won, you inspirational little bounty hunter!”

            “But you’re tired, Mon Amour,” Francis protested, gasping as he felt Scaramouche purposefully tense his port.

            “Not too tired to have my port overflowing with your fluids, baby,” Scaramouche purred, lazily rocking up into him. Francis rutted into him again, picking up speed at Scaramouche’s encouragement. He managed to hold himself at the brink of orgasm. As soon as the port clinched again, Francis failed to stifle his shouts of pleasure. Moaning into Scaramouche’s frame, he slammed inside, his attachment twitching as he filled the port. Settling against Scaramouche, he rested as the long fingers began stroking his head.

            “Mm, I love you so much, babe,” Scaramouche sighed as he finally regained control of his body. Francis slipped out of him, crawling up so he could nestle his head against Scaramouche’s shoulder.

            “I love you more, Mon Amour.” Scaramouche chuckled before groaning as he stretched down to kiss Francis on the top of his head.

            “Let me get cleaned up a little, babe, and then we should call it a night. We’ve got lots of partying to do tomorrow, and I want to suck your dick so hard that you’ll be seeing stars for a week.” Scaramouche eased Francis off of his arm as he swung his legs off the bed. Rising to his feet too quickly, he swayed dangerously before his legs gave way and he collapsed into the bedside table. He made a horrible screech as his head snapped back.

            Francis was at his side as quick as he could move. He pulled Scaramouche away from the wreckage, gently cradling his head to keep his throat straight. Bright coding flashed across his face as he groaned. After a few minutes, his eyes came back into focus before widening into complete circles.

            “Babe! Babe, I remember! It’s been on the tip of my tongue for years! Oh, baby, we’re going to be living like kings when I tell Aku that Jackie-baby lost his sword!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to Salacious Shipping for allowing me to borrow Francis! You can find more information about their artwork here (https://goo.gl/1t59on) and their Patreon here (https://www.patreon.com/ssnsfw/posts).


	40. End of the World

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for sticking around for the whole story. I hope you have enjoyed the 656 instances of the word "babe." There's more Franmouche content to come in the Musician AU.

**End of the World**

 

_“I’ve got a pair of front row tickets to see the Samurai’s demise, babe. You’re coming!” He wasn’t supposed to be in harm’s way! “Aku’s going to handle the whole thing! We just get to sit back and watch. Then, I’ll be his permanent favorite assassin, babe! We’ll be living the good life!”_

The hand at his shoulder jerked him from his thoughts. His tongue tripped over a few words, wanting an update, wanting to apologize for his distraction, longing for good news all at the same time. The look on the doctor’s face was not promising.

“It’s not looking good. We looked into placing the chip in a new body, but the results will be the same. Using his current body would be a better option, but –”

“Do whatever you can do, Madame!”

“The procedure will be expen—”

“I have insurance now,” Francis insisted. “I have more income! I will pay for it!”

“You’ll have to sign some forms first. He will require a caretaker. Let’s step into my office to discuss the procedure.”

~/~

            There was still the high pitched shriek when he awoke, but no violent thrashing save for his head. Francis had piled up pillows behind his head to keep him safe.

            “NO! No, no, no, babe! I SWEAR HE LOST IT!”

            “Shhh, Mon Amour, we’re home now.” Francis grasped each temple gently, holding him still before he leaned forward and kissed him on the lips. “You’re safe.” Scaramouche’s eyes darted wildly about the room, trying to confirm.

            “I guess I’ve moved up your ranks, huh, babe? I get to wake up in the master bedroom now.” He gave a chuckle, which sounded strange as his system tried to readjust.  “Is it so we can get to the love making part faster, babe?”

            “You should rest some more.” He relaxed his grip on Scaramouche’s head, instead stroking along the temples and jaw.

            “In a little bit, babe. I need to at least thank you for putting me back together,” he gave a deep sigh. “… again. Do you know when the paralysis will wear off, babe? I’d like to pull you on top of me and show you how much I appreciate everything you do for me.” He smirked, although he had turned to look at his own limbs, to make sure they were actually attached. Taking the hand nearest him, Francis raised the limp fingers to his lips.

            “Mon Amour … it’s not.”

            “Not going to wear off in an hour, babe? Or like today?” Francis squeezed the hand tighter, in vain.

            “It’s not … It’s not ever going to wear off.” Scaramouche cocked his head to the side, staring hard at Francis.

            “If this body’s no good anymore, can’t we just put my chip in another one, babe? It’s not that hard!”

            “They… They can’t.” Francis could no longer look at the eyes still filled with hope. He glanced to the floor, Scaramouche’s hand still cradled in his own lap. “When Aku destroyed your head, the chip was corrupted. They could salvage your memories and personality, but most of the movement functions were rendered unusable.”

            “There’s a chance, if installed in your original body, that you can regain movement down to your waist. You’ll be able to use your hands and arms, but it will require a lot of physical therapy. It’s a slim chance, though.”

            “So I’ll never walk again, babe? Not even with new attachments?” Francis nodded, forcing himself to look back at the dulling blue eyes.

            “I’m sorry, Mon Amour. I did everything I could. I took you to the specialist, but it’s not possible to fix the chip without damaging the rest of you … or worse.” Turning to face the far side of the room, Scaramouche closed his eyes.

“Like creator, like son, babe,” he laughed bitterly. He went silent for a long time.

            “Hey, babe, would you do something for me? Anything?” Francis swallowed down the bile that was threating to spill at the tone of voice. Scaramouche had not turned to look at him, and with his eyes closed, Francis could not read his expression.

            “I will do what I can, Mon Amour.”

            “Kill me.”

            “I cannot do that.” Francis held the hand tighter, for his own sake. “Scaramouche, all is not lost. We can work through this.”

            “Babe,” the eyes reappeared, and he turned back, boarder line anger tainting his features. “I’m now the most useless robot in existence. I’ve lied to Aku, I failed my mission, I can’t fucking move an inch, babe! I’m only going to burden you physically and financially.”

            “You’re not a bur—”

            “ _Don’t_ touch me, babe.” Francis’ hand retreated from Scaramouche’s head and he replaced the lifeless hand to his side.

            “I’m sorry. I knew that reviving you was selfish, but there’s still a chance—”

            “I want to be alone, babe,” he spat. Francis nodded and left without another word, latching the door behind him.

~/~

            The vicious screams had barely deterred his research. After the first one, he had waited outside the door to see if he would be called back, but there was no plea for company. Instead, the incoherent, high pitched notes were intermingled with demands to be destroyed. Francis waited an hour before stepping down stairs to begin looking up physical therapists.

            He had a list of five local ones, and was researching their strategies when he heard his name softly called. It had been silent for the last hour after four consecutive hours of tortured cries. Informing his arrival with a shout, he dashed back up the stairs.

            “I’m here, Mon Amour,” he pushed open the door, hating himself expecting more destruction with all the noise. The worst was darkened oil spatters across the sheet and staining his scarf and the collar of his coat. Francis was at the bedside in a few strides, dabbing away at the drying, burnt oil that stained his chin.

            “Francis, babe, I’m sorry,” he croaked, hacking up a chunk of congealed oil.

            “Mon Amour, I am too. I should have asked you before I had you revived, but I was selfish.”

            “Can you hold me, babe?” he whimpered, oil leaking from the corners of his mouth again.

            “Of course.” He pulled the shoulders and head into his lap, keeping one hand swiping at the new oil, the other stroking his throat.

            “You can’t just take care of me, babe. It’s not fair to you! At least take me to a facility or something. It doesn’t have to be nice. They just have to feed me every day, babe. Or every other day.”

            “I would never do that to you, Mon Amour. You’re not a burden.”

            “Therapy’s expensive though, babe, but if we don’t …”

            “I’ve already looked up some options. We’ll find someone. I’ll take care of it.” _Regan will take me back for a few weekends. I’ll make sure Scaramouche is okay._

            “Baby, I don’t want you to go back to the job you hated! Don’t do that for me. Listen, you need to empty out my bank account. Do it right now in case they confiscate it. Take all the money and use that first, babe. And then, if you run out, take me to a facility. Please, babe, you have to promise me you won’t suffer to help me.” He tilted his head back, eyes wide as he waited for Francis’ answer.

            “Mon Amour, my last client was not so bad, but the pay was excellent. He never hurt me.” _I’m not sure if we can make it on my meager income. We’ll burn through the savings in no time._

            “I’m not stopping you from taking any job, babe, but don’t do it if you’re only doing it for me.”

            “I won’t do anything that hurts me,” Francis promised.

~/~

            _Fuck! The account’s already locked out._ Francis entered the credential again, only to be met with the red warning that he was unauthorized to access Scaramouche’s bank account. _That’s alright,_ he tried to calm himself. “We can make it!” He resumed heating the two pots of oil. Downing his breakfast, he took a bowl up to Scaramouche.

“Good morning, Mon Amour.” The greeting was met with a grunt. Regardless, Francis perched on the bed next to Scaramouche’s head, holding the bowl of oil in his lap.

            “I’m not hungry, babe.”

            “Alright.”

            “You’re not going to force me to eat, babe?” Scaramouche followed the movements with his eyes as Francis placed the bowl on the bed side table.

            “Of course not. I won’t force you to do anything you don’t want to. I will not make you live if you do not wish to, but I pray that you are not intentionally starving yourself.” Francis laid down next to him, wrapping one arm under his neck and the other across his chest. A quick kiss was pressed to Scaramouche’s cheek before he rested his head on the pillow.

            “It would be so much easier for you without me, babe,” Scaramouche insisted.

            “I rather like having you around, Mon Amour.”

            “Babe,” his head snapped to face Francis. “I’m going to be a useless talking head for the rest of my life. I can’t be an assassin if I can’t walk! I can’t help you pay for any of this.”

            “You don’t have to be an assassin.”

            “That’s all I had left! Half of my band is dead, babe, and the other half don’t want anything to do with it.”

            “You could go solo. Compose music or perform.” Scaramouche opened his mouth to retort, before suddenly drawing back. Francis continued undaunted.

            “You’re clearly talented with your flute, and you know music so well. Once you get function back in your hands, instead of just playing for me, write it down, Mon Amour! Sell your music. You can sit down to perform if you’d rather do that. I’ll help get you out on stage, and we’ll get you set up in a chair. Maybe there won’t be any bows at the end of the show, but you’ll be able to perform!”

            “I hadn’t thought of that,” Scaramouche’s jaw was still slack in awe. Yet, doubt destroyed the excitement. “But babe, what if I never regain use of my arms? You said it was a slim chance!”

            “Then I will be your hands. You can teach me how to read and write sheet music, and I will write your compositions.”

            “You’re so fucking brilliant, babe!” Straining his neck, he leaned down to kiss Francis. He awkwardly grazed Francis’ nose before the smaller robot slid closer to help. Passion had not ebbed even in his state. Scaramouche pressed his lips towards him as hard as he was able, his tongue as active as ever. Francis did not try taking control, only holding Scaramouche close. The extra tongue in his mouth writhed, as if Scaramouche had not had a chance to kiss him in years.

            “I loaf yob, baf!” Francis broke it off for just a moment to return the sentiment unimpaired. Stretching toward him relentlessly, Francis leaned back down. Scaramouche finally pulled away with a groan.

            “Babe,” his face cracked into a pained grimace. “Maybe I was a little hungry. I’m not feeling too great.”

Francis could tell Scaramouche hated every spoonful offered to him only because he could not do it himself. The bowl clean, Francis sat it aside, tracing Scaramouche’s cheek with his fingertips.

“Mon Amour, it may be good to also get oil in your joints. It’s been a few days.”

“Why bother, babe? Just a little for my neck and I’ll be fine.”

“You still have to take care of your body so that it’s available when you do retain movement. Plus, who’s to say they won’t find a way to help you walk again?”

“Alright, babe,” Scaramouche surrendered. Francis rewarded him with a quick peck on the lips. He undid the scarf and unbuttoned the coat

“I’m sorry I can’t help, babe.”

“Mon Amour, it’s alright!” Francis pulled the body as close to the edge of the bed as he could before sliding the legs off the side. He sat between the legs, pulling Scaramouche’s arms over his shoulders and pinning them to his own chest with his chin. With an arm under each knee, he pulled Scaramouche up.

The dead weight was pushing Francis’ limit. He staggered down the hall to the small washroom, much more dangerously than the very first time he had assisted Scaramouche several years ago. His knees struck the tile floor hard as he stumbled forward.

“Babe! Are you alright?” Scaramocuhe shouted as they both pitched forward onto the unforgiving tile.

“Oui. Just … not quite as strong as I’d like to be.” Crawling out from under the robot, he shakily rose to his feet. Once the basin was filled, he turned his full attention back to Scaramouche.

“Don’t worry about how ugly it looks, babe! Do whatever you need.” With another apology, he took Scaramouche’s legs, pulling them into the basin first. His wince at the metal sliding across the floor was discouraged with a disheartened “I can’t feel it, babe.” Once Francis had gotten the hips balanced on the edge, he returned to Scaramouche’s top half, hefting his shoulders off the floor.

“This seems like a lot more trouble than it’s worth, babe.”

“We’ll find a better way,” Francis sighed. _Getting him out will be worse, but I’ll fight that battle when I get to it._ Kneeling, he began working the oil into the joints.

“Since you’ve stripped me down already, babe,” Scaramouche smirked as Francis worked around the hips. “What if we took a fuck break?”

“Mon Amour, I’m not … I don’t know if …”

“You don’t want to fuck a corpse,” Scaramouche reclined against the back. “It’s alright. I wouldn’t either, babe.”

“No, that’s not what I meant.” Francis crawled back to the top of the basin, standing so he could kiss the top of Scaramouche’s head. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Francis, baby, you’ve _never_ hurt me before. I want to be good for something!”

“We will, sometime. I promise. Just … not now, Mon Amour.”

“It was also … kind of a … a curiosity on my part, babe,” Scaramouche’s voice grew quiet. _He wants to know if he can or if he has any pleasure circuit functionality._

“What if I finger you, Mon Amour? Would that be enough for now?” The nod was vigorous. With one more kiss, Francis knelt back at Scaramouche’s hips. He traced the rim of the port, watching as Scaramouche bit his lip in anticipation. When that failed to produce any sort of result, Francis dipped his fingers inside, teasing about the track before more forcefully pressing on the pleasure centers, the pressure increasing with every passing second.

As they had both feared, there was nothing to feel.

~/~

            “I can’t sleep, babe.”

            “Close your eyes, and try, Mon Amour,” Francis encouraged, readjusting his head on Scaramouche’s shoulder. _Should have kept him awake a bit more during the day._

            “I _tried_ , babe.” He was silent for a few minutes, Francis hoping that he would fall asleep out of sheer boredom if nothing else. The attempt at bathing Scaramouche had taken more energy than he had expected.

            “You know, babe,” Francis let out a small involuntary groan as he heard the smirk form. “There’s still one part of me that works, babe.” Without another word, Francis finally sat up and rolled on top of him. Forcing the head back into the pillow, Francis mashed his lips into Scaramouche’s. The tongue was fast to enter his own mouth as Scaramouche kissed him back.

            “Better?” Francis sighed once he pulled away.

            “A little, babe.”

            “Mon Amour, I know you want to return the favor, but you need to rest. There’s no need to make anything up to me.”

            “But I _want_ to, babe! I know you see it as a service, but I love it! Giving, receiving, the whole shebang, babe! Please?” Francis took a moment to trace Scaramouche’s cheek with his thumb.

            “And you won’t be able to sleep unless you get to suck me off, hmm?”

            “Uh-huh. So you’ll do it, babe?” _Unwillingly, I will._

            “Alright. If you get too tired or want to quit—”

            “I won’t, baby!”

            “Scaramouche,” Francis glared, resisting the urge to hold his mouth shut. “I’m serious. If you need to take a break or speak, close your right eye and open your left one as wide as you can. We need some sort of signal.” Scaramouche stopped in mid-protest.

            “Show me what you’ll do if you need to stop.”

            “Babe, I look ridiculous.”

            “You either promise you’ll do it, or I’ll stop every other thrust and make sure you’re okay.”

            “ _Fine_ , babe.” Scaramouche complied, holding the expression for another second before opening both eyes.

            “I just want you to be safe, Mon Amour. I don’t want to come in at a bad angle or be too rough.” He kissed him again, begrudgingly undoing his pants with his free hand and pushing the material out of the way.

            “Let me sit you up a little,” Francis insisted, grabbing under each arm to pull him up higher on the bed frame. He propped the pillows behind Scaramouche’s head, checking to make sure he was comfortable.

            “Come on, Francis, baby! Let’s get started.”

            “Do you promise to signal if you need a break?”

            “Mm-hm!” Scaramouche had already tried leaning forward, tongue outstretched as Francis straddled his chest. Francis relented, leaning forwards. With slow motions, he pumped into the mouth. Once Francis had settled into a consistent pace, and Scaramouche stopped worrying he would pull away, the frantic tongue movements slowed.

            “Mmm, that feels amazing, Mon Amour,” Francis sighed as Scaramouche took the time to work the two pleasure centers, alternating between the one at the tip and the one further down the shaft. The snake like tongue slid along the length, pressing a prodding everywhere. Scaramouche began to sing gently, the vibrations of his throat causing Francis to shutter in delight.

            With the hindered movements and Francis unwillingness to thrust in harder, they went through the motions for a long while. Finally, Francis held still, his attachment only a centimeter deep in Scaramouche’s mouth. He came, rutting forward slightly, but not deep enough to jar the back of Scaramouche’s throat. Scaramouche purred as he swallowed the fluids.

            “Now will you go to sleep, Mon Amour?” Francis settled back beside him, snuggling his head on Scaramouche’s shoulder.

            “I will, but can I ask you a question first, babe?” Francis bid him continue.

            “Do you still love me, babe?” Startled, Francis sat back up to study his face. Scaramouche’s eyes were dull with apprehension and exhaustion.

            “Yes! Of course I do!”

            “Even like this, babe?”

            “Scaramouche, I love you more every day that I am with you. I treasure every moment that I get to spend with you, regardless of what we are doing.” Scaramouche nodded, finally closing his eyes. Francis sat above him until he was sure Scaramouche had fallen asleep. Settling in, he pressed a kiss to the underside of Scaramouche’s jaw. He had nearly drifted off himself when he received a string of texts.

            ‘This is the Maverick leader. Accounts have been unlocked. Get the money now. MB left you a donation.’

            ‘Who is this?’ Francis texted back.

            ‘Sigma. Got your number from a recent client.’

            ‘From Regan?’

            ‘No. MB.’ Francis shook himself out of his stupor, realizing what the unlocked accounts meant. He frantically logged into Scaramouche’s account, finding permission had been granted, and emptied it into his own account. There were no other strange messages, so once the thrill of having a nice cushion to help Scaramouche with passed, he shut down for the night.

~/~

            Francis jerked awake as his phone rang. Glancing over to make sure Scaramouche was still sound asleep, he carefully made his way down the hall and to the guest room. _It’s the same number from last night,_ he realized as he answered with a hesitant “Hello?”

            “It turns out that tequila is not my friend,” Shadow stated, much of the edge Francis had come to expect missing from their voice. Francis would have sworn they sounded almost whimsical. “I have quite a mess of things to undue now that I’m awake.”

            “I thought that you did not sleep?”

            “I’m not supposed to. It’s been quite a few years since I’ve been completely unconscious. Waking up is incredibly stressful for me and anyone within a 20 meter radius. MB can attest to that.”

            “Can you _please_ stop calling Regan MB?” Francis heard BK in the background.  “It’s not even initials for a Maverick.”

“He doesn’t mind that I’m calling him Money Bags,” Shadow countered. “I’ve asked.”

“I’m still surprised he can even talk after what you did to him.”

            “It was merely a flesh wound.”

            “You ripped off his entire arm _with your teeth_ ,” the exasperated snip came. Francis flinched at the image.

            “I would have taken his throat out, too, if you hadn’t tranquilized me first. Don’t worry, it’s been reattached and he’s fine. Fries fixed it, and it’s been a few hours. Devin is tending to him now since they’ve grown rather close in the last few days.”

            “I see that you’ve taken the money out of the account,” Shadow continued before a wet cough cut them off. Francis waited patiently until they stopped hacking. Shadow and BK argued for a bit as to what the substance Shadow had evidently coughed up was. Judging by BK’s annoyed tone, Francis figured she was correct in her accusation that it was indeed blood.

            “We had to lock the accounts of those loyal to Aku, but I made some exceptions for Scaramouche … and for Ophion. I guess I should preface by saying, surprise, I’m a rebel. I’d say head of the rebels, but I’ve been banished by them as well. All I had left was a small band of Mavericks and enough sway to get by. I suppose I’m pretty useless now since the majority of Aku’s army has been devastated by the demon himself. That was supposed to be my job. I heard what happened to Scaramouche. I had hoped he would have come to me first with the information. Eventually, I hoped to convert him to my side. I would have liked both of you on my team, but I am glad you turned me down. I must admit, your denial made me feel an emotion that wasn’t one of the usual four: anger, hunger, destruction, and chaos.”

            “I’m pretty sure only one of those is an emotion,” BK murmured, her voice closer to the phone than it had been since Shadow called.

            “How are you doing?” Francis finally posed. _I’ve never heard them so exhausted._

            “I can’t complain. I quit smoking, because the cigarette company stopped sponsoring me, and I’m too cheap to buy them.” Francis expressed his excitement, watching as the first rays of sunlight began creeping into the guest room.

            “I got married.” BK added a snarky “finally,” and Francis beamed as he heard her giggle.

            “Congratulations!”

            “And I’ll be dead within three days.” Silence penetrated the room. Francis considered asking Shadow to repeat the last sentence, but he felt it in his core that he had not misunderstood.

            “What? No congratulations? No celebrations that the Tyrant that wasn’t quite a rebel, wasn’t quite a loyal servant, is about to die?”

            “I’m … I’m sorry to hear that.” Shadow barked out a laugh that ended in a wretched cough followed by a groan. “Is there anything I can do?”

            “Come collect one of the thousand bounties that’s on my head. Fries keeps wanting to run tests, but we all know that Ophion is a brilliant scientist. It was only out of obligation that I pulled the trigger after he injected me. He was only ever looking out for his family, but he was an honorable man. Magnus though, I wish I could show you how he screamed when I ripped him in half for taking my right arm. So, come and do your job. You have your pick on who you deliver my body to.”

            “You’re too powerful for me,” Francis stated, trying to process the onslaught of information.

            “You flatter me. Take care of my assassin. BK will be here if you ever need anything. I have to go tie up a few more loose ends. I’ll do what I can to make sure Scaramouche is no longer associated with me so he’s not arrested. I cannot make any promises, but I think I can pull a few more strings before I pass away.”

            “Thank you,” Francis uttered before pulling himself together. “Can I ask you a question?” Shadow let out another hacking cough, loudly spitting out something that sounded even thicker than blood before agreeing to answer.

            “Why are you doing all this for us?”

            “Because I can. Besides, haven’t you suffered enough?”

~/~

            “Are you sure you’re alright, babe?” Scaramouche nuzzled into Francis hair. Francis nodded, holding Scaramouche tighter. He had been alright yesterday, which was the last day Shadow was expected to live. He had called the day before that, and Shadow talked briefly, but they were still trying to make sure everything was in order for a smooth transition from Aku’s dictatorship to a more democratic society.  It took all his will power to not sob when he hung up.

            “I know you were really close with Shadow, babe,” the quiet murmur came. _He wants so badly to comfort me,_ Francis realized, finally untucking his head from Scaramouche’s coat to kiss the underside of his jaw.

            “I’m okay. I want to try bounty hunting a little bit farther from home today. I’ll keep my volume on high so I can hear you call if you need anything.”

            “You don’t have to worry about me all day, babe. I have some songs I’ll work though. I’ll start teaching you how to write music soon, baby. Be safe! I love you!” Francis returned the sentiment, kissing him for a while before he finally pulled away.

            Mounting his bike, he actually headed to one of his favorite hunting grounds. The first time he told Scaramouche he was going out, he merely drove down the street, parked, and wandered around the woods behind his home for a while. _I need a change of scenery to get my mind off everything,_ he assured himself.

            Once his feet hit the ground, he felt the natural hunting tendencies kick in. He scanned the area to get  a sense of his surroundings, locate possible hiding areas, and determine ways his bounty would try to escape.

            Engrossed in tracking his target, Francis staggered back as his phone blared in the quiet. He heard a barrage of rustling as his target and companion scattered into the forest. Calming himself, he checked the caller. _It must be BK using Shadow’s old phone to check on me. Both of them were nicer to me than I could ever have dreamed._ He answered pleasantly.

            “I’ve got good news and bad news,” the familiar voice greeted.

            “You’re alive!”

            “Barely. That poison was supposed to finish me off a couple of days ago, and my body thinks I should be dead. The good news is that the poison isn’t actually going to be the thing that kills me.”

            “The bad news?” Francis prompted gently.

            “You need to get home right now.”

~/~

            “You’re back, babe!” Scaramouche shouted in joy as the front door clicked shut. “Come here, baby! I want to show you something.” Francis wanted to run up the stairs, but found it hard to drag himself up the single flight. He paused outside the door, managing to put on a more pleasant expression.

            “Look at my left hand, babe!” Francis made it across the room, complying with the excited demand. It took a while to notice, but Scaramouche could twitch his left thumb a bit granted he was directing all of his energy and concentration to the area.

            “You’ll just have to line your attachment up a little bit so I can massage your pleasure centers, baby,” he smirked before his face fell. “What’s the matter, babe?”

            “I think the world is ending,” Francis whispered.

            “Oh, baby, I know I’ve been in a dour mood, but it’s not that bad!”

            “No, Mon Amour, I think that when the Samurai and Aku fought, something happened. Something is coming this way and it’s devouring everything in its wake. It will be here in less than a half hour, but it’s moving slowly. I saw it from the road. I – I can’t describe it.”

            “Can you get away, babe?” Francis bit his lower lip, considering the situation.

            “I don’t know. The bike isn’t set up for you yet. We might be able to rig it up.”

            “No, listen to me, baby. Can _you_ get away?”

            “No.”

            “But you said it’s an hour away and not that fast, babe!” Scaramouche protested.

            “I’m not leaving you. You are the best thing that has ever happened to me in my entire life and I will not leave you alone to die. There is nothing that a few extra hours would mean to me if you weren’t there with me.”

            “Aw, babe, that’s the sweetest thing anyone has ever said to me.”

            “I want to spend the rest of my life with you, Mon Amour, no matter what!” Scaramouche could not help a quiet giggle, much like BK had let out when Francis had talked to Shadow in the early hours of the morning.

            “Is that a proposal, babe?”

            “I don’t have a ring,” Francis admitted, trying not to let the horror and sadness take over his expression.

            “Unbutton my coat, babe. No, just the top one. Much as I would like to die making love to you, that’s not what I need you to get.” Francis reached over the still chest, undoing the first button. He reached in under the fabric, feeling the hidden pocket sewn in between the top two buttons. Pulling out the small box, his legs gave out and he fell to his knees, trying with all his might to keep the box in his hands.

            “I’ve had them for a long time, babe. I was waiting for you to be ready at first, but then Magnus threw a wrench in my plans. After the tournament, I was … I was … It was going to prove that I was ready, baby.” Francis felt his mouth hanging open, unable to keep up his relatively calm façade or even utter a word.

            “Go on, babe! I can’t really get on one knee.” Francis nodded, shifting his weight so that he rested on one knee and had his foot on the ground.

            “You have to ask the question, too, babe.”

            “W-will you … will you marry me, Mon Amour?”

            “Of course, babe! I thought you’d never ask!” Francis shakily made it back to his feet. After nearly dropping the gold rings twice, he managed to slide it onto Scaramouche’s left ring finger. His right hand trembled horribly as he placed the ring on his own hand.

“Kiss me, babe. Don’t ever stop.” Forcing his body to move, Francis gingerly climbs on top of him before he looked into his eyes _one last time_ and kissed him until they both knew nothing else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to Salacious Shipping for allowing me to borrow Francis! You can find more information about their artwork here (https://goo.gl/1t59on) and their Patreon here (https://www.patreon.com/ssnsfw/posts).


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